


Falling Like The Stars

by ItsYaBoiKeith (PetalsAndPurity)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gay Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron) is Good With Kids, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lonely Keith (Voltron), M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Waiter Keith (Voltron), Writer! Keith, james is always a good boi in my fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetalsAndPurity/pseuds/ItsYaBoiKeith
Summary: Lance had never seen his mother look as happy as she did in that moment. The nurse had left the room, smiling as though she was proud of the damage she had unknowingly caused.Of course, she'd just been told that her only son had gotten engaged. The news had lit a small beacon of hope in her life that had been shrouded with darkness for the past three years.Except, Lance wasn't engaged. His "fiance", who was concussed and sleeping in the hospital bed, was actually just some stranger Lance had been pining over for weeks, and just so happened to be in the right time and right place to save his life.-(Or: Lance saves Keith's life and accidentally tells his family they're engaged. Oops.)
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 239
Kudos: 324





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Sorry for not posting anything in like, ten years. I've actually been secretly working on this thing this whole time! It's not gonna be as long as good times (I don't think, anyway). But I am super excited and hope you enjoy it regardless!

Lance sighed, taking the ticket from the printer and handing it to the business woman in front of her. Her lips were pursed in a thin line as she frantically tapped her long claw-like nails on the counter. “Have a nice-“ 

She was gone. 

It was pretty much the same every day. The same trains coming in at the same time. The same people coming in and out like clockwork with the same coats and bags. The same journeys, the same _everything._

Lance _hated_ his job. He couldn’t wait to finish uni _just_ so he could quit this place. So he could go out and _live._

He had to fight the urge every day to throw his ridiculous blue cap off his head and storm out of the crummy and cold ticket office. Away from the grumpy, rude people that always shouted at him when there was a train delay, as though it was _his_ fault someone had decided to hit the emergency stop button because they’d missed their stop, or that a train had decided to break down halfway between stops. 

There was only one thing that stopped him from doing just that. And that thing was walking up the steps now. 

Lance had his routine ingrained in his brain just as much as his own. He’d missed his train, though he was late enough to walk slowly, defeated, past the effort of caring. He merely trundled up the path, before pushing the door to the ticket office open. The door squeaked horribly on its hinges, but even the ear-grating shrill became music to Lance’s ears. 

The low, tinny tunes of a guitar filtered from the boy’s obnoxiously red headphones as he lifted them off his ears. His unruly hair was barely kept tamed by the black knitted beanie pulled firmly over his ears. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his brows were cutely furrowed together - a permanent fixture to his features, Lance noticed.

Lance took pride in remembering his stop, printing the ticket right away so that by the time the boy had made it to the counter, he could simply take the ticket without having to speak a word. His cold fingertips, poking out from his leather, fingerless gloves, brushed against Lance’s as he handed him the cash. In their wake, they left small sparks that Lance wasn’t sure was _just_ from the cold. 

He watched him fiddle with the tickets, offering Lance a small smile. As usual, his fingers were blotched with ink-stains. 

Lance opened his mouth to start up a conversation, but the boy was rushing off onto the platform before he could get the chance. Lance wanted to follow him, but two loud, young boys were entering the office, nudging each other and laughing. One held a football under his arm, dirtying his school uniform. 

Lance gave them their tickets, should have probably questioned why they were travelling when they were meant to be at school, but he was too busy watching the boy outside. He’d placed his headphones back over his head, and was standing past the yellow line, again - _how rebellious -_ scrawling in his notebook. 

It didn’t come as a surprise to Lance. The boy acted almost like clockwork. He’d miss his train then stand on the platform and spend the better part of an hour writing while he waited for the next one. Lance had only known that the boy was always late, because he’d only started being late to every train three months ago. He’d rushed, face red, eyes bloodshot, to the station, demanded to know when the next train was. Since then, each attempt at getting to the station on time was more and more halfhearted, until finally, he didn’t appear to care at all. 

Over his time working for the station, Lance had slowly become smitten with the boy. How he was always writing. It was cute how he’d bite his lip in thought, cute that he always had small petals of ink blossoming over his fingers. How he was always so patient and polite - though very quiet - no matter how late he was running. Unlike _some_ people. 

Lance had been replaying the scenario in his head for weeks, how he’d go up onto the platform and actually _talk_ to the boy - if just to find out his name. He thought of hopeless romantic movies, and how he could write his number on the back of the boy’s ticket, or how he could invite him for a coffee one day at the small shop just across the road.

But here was the thing - Lance was _awkward._ He could talk, and talk, and talk, but when it mattered, nothing that left his mouth made sense. His sisters would probably argue that it didn’t make sense, period. 

And if it _did_ happen to be somewhat intelligible, it was usually the entirely opposite of what he was meant to say. 

So, he required practise. Hours upon hours of practising in his matchbox-sized bathroom in his small shared apartment. Of failed winks and smirks - how did the YA heroes even _do_ it? Of countless hours spent in front of his mirror assessing his fashion choices, before realising that if he was ever gonna catch the boy, he was gonna be in his ridiculously oversized blue garb with the horrid grandpa-like fleece and cap.

But today? Today, he’d decided he’d just go for it.

(It definitely wasn’t because Pidge told him if he didn’t shut up about the ‘weird emo kid’ and ask him out, she’d tell her parents that he was the one who broke their TV when they were kids). 

Lance was not going to ruin his golden reputation with the Holts, and…well, any excuse to get his ass into gear and actually talk to the boy that took the train every day was a good excuse to him. 

So, after ten minutes of fighting with his own self doubts, he managed to close down the office and go out onto the platform. The two kids were kicking a football around, laughing at each other. Lance should really call them out on it, before someone gets hurt, but he was too busy staring at the boy standing on the platform, writing frantically in barely eligible handwriting.

The wind howled and pushed against Lance, catching him by surprise and almost knocking him off his feet. He still managed to catch a few pieces of rubbish to at least make it _look_ natural, like he was working and not actively pursuing the boy. 

As he neared him, he felt eyes on him. Lance looked up to see the boy looking at him, holding his book a little closer to his chest. Lance’s heart jumped in his chest, and he finally opened his mouth to say a simple ‘hi’, because he was _doing this_ , he was going to speak to-

“Heads up!”

A ball smacked into the back of the boys head, and he stumbled, falling right off the edge of the platform. A hoarse cry sounded, and a loud thump, then silence. 

“Shit,” Lance gawped at the empty space. He was _so_ gonna get fired for this.

But more importantly-

“Hello?!” Lance rushed to the edge of the platform. The boy was now laying motionless on the track. “Oh no. Oh _no._ ”

“Hello? Sir? Please wake up!” Lance leaned over the platform. He could hear footsteps run away and off the platform. “Hello?” He tried reaching a hand out, but the platform wall was too high up. “Uh, sir?” He called, just as the voice announced an oncoming train through the intercom. “Sir, you need to wake up! A train is coming!”

“Oh crap,” Lance tugged at his hair. He ignored all protocol and jumped down after him. The boy was so pale already, he looked _dead_ \- but maybe that was Lance just panicking. He was definitely panicking. 

He could hear the oncoming squeak of wheels. He felt his chest tighten, shaking the boy frantically, feeling himself start to shake just as much. “Hey, you need to wake up! A train's coming!”

There was no response. The boy's head dropped limply to the side to reveal a large cut on his head, bleeding all over his pale skin and the cobblestone on the track. 

He grabbed the boy under the arms and quickly hoisted him up. He was shorter than Lance, lighter, thank _god._ He managed to lift him up, slipping him back onto the platform. 

He could feel the rumble of the track now, hear the squeak of breaks as the train approached. 

Lance tried to scramble up, but his shoes slipped against the wall and he fell back down. 

_Shit, shit shit!_

The train drew closer. Lance closed his eyes and tried again, foot catching on a dent in the wall and managing to hoist himself up. 

He landed on the boy, just as the train raced past. Lance wasn’t sure if the hammering heartbeat he could hear was from the boy, or his own. 

-

Lance had found himself in the hospital. He was told to go in the ambulance too, just in case. His family had been called to come pick him up. After a quick checkup from a grumpy looking doctor who looked as though they were nearing the end of their shift, they realised he was fine, just in a little shock. He was able to sit in the waiting room, the nurse who ushered him there muttering something about needing the space for another patient. 

A nurse paced back and forth down the corridor, to and fro, carrying various files and items to wherever they needed to go. She'd told Lance that she was called Shay, and was appointed to the boy Lance had saved. She had kind eyes and had slipped Lance a chocolate bar earlier, claiming chocolate helped patients with shock. His mama would say the same, and god, how much did he want his mama right now. 

If he had been a second later, him and the boy- Keith, the nurse had said he was called after they’d checked his wallet, would be crushed under train wheels right now.

Lance shuddered just thinking about it. 

His phone began to ring. He assumed it was his mama panicking and checking he was okay and answered quickly. It wasn't her.

“Hey, dude! Where are you? It’s Taco Tuesday, did you forget?”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Hunk! I’m uh, I’m in hospital right now,” Lance spoke quickly. “I’m okay! I’m fine, just - someone fell off the platform at the station today. I got him off but we were almost hit by a train? But I’m staying here to check he’s okay. He’s the cute guy!”

“ _The_ Cute Guy? You mean, Cute Guy got hit by a train?”

“Almost!” Lance sighed, rolling his eyes. “I was gonna marry him, Hunk!” He exasperated, “I can’t believe the first chance I get to-“

He noticed the nurse, Shay, standing there, shocked. “Uh, Hunk? I’ll call you back.”

He put the phone down despite the protests from the other end. Shay seemed to take a more empathetic approach than before, taking a seat next to him. 

“Sir, I’m sorry to say Mr. Kogane is still unconscious and concussed.” Shay smiled kindly. “Unfortunately we were unable to reach his emergency contact, but as you’re here and you’re technically family, we can make an allowance and allow you to see him now. Follow me.”

“Uh. Sure.” Lance frowned. She must have assumed they were brothers, or cousins - though, how she assumed that when they looked _nothing_ alike was…odd.

Keith was hooked up to a few machines from his hospital bed, but not many. He was glad. He remembered his father, after his accident, when he'd been completely overwhelmed by how many machines he was surrounded with. It made him look so tiny, and frail.

Keith looked small, and the white sheets were doing nothing to help his equally pale complexion, but he didn't look as bad as his father had done. He had heavy bandaging around his head, and around one wrist. A few bruises were blossoming over his skin, too, but that was all. Lance was relieved; it definitely could have been a lot worse than it had been. 

  
Lance leant back in his chair. The stress began to fade away and exhaustion seeped deep into his bones. He was so glad Keith was okay; he felt partially responsible, after all. It was his fault that the football was kicked. He should have sorted the problem out, but no. He was too busy trying to talk to Keith. If he hadn’t have distracted him, he may have noticed the ball flying in his direction. Maybe he wouldn’t have been knocked onto the track. 

  
All he knew, was he owed Keith a big apology when he woke up. He just hoped it would be soon. 

-

When Lance’s mother arrived and was lead to Keith’s room, he was met by a flurry of hugs and sobs. Lance felt more guilt pool in the pit of his stomach for worrying her. His father had ended up in hospital just a couple of years ago. He hated to think what was going through her mind when she received the call from the hospital. 

  
She was in a thrown together outfit, and from the feel of her hair, it was the hospital that had been the motivation for her to get out of bed this morning. 

  
Lance buried his face into her shoulder, hugging her tightly. “I’m okay, Mama,” he mumbled, frowning. _Well done for upsetting her even more, dumbass._

  
A couple of his siblings followed; Veronica and Rachel. Rachel had her arms folded, dark circles pooling under her eyes. She was dressed in a rumbled suit - had she really ditched work just to see Lance, even though he wasn’t even hurt?

  
Veronica had slacks on and a carton cup of coffee in her hand. She was trying her best to look the most relaxed out of the three, but Lance could see her hand shaking from where they were clutched around the cup. He could tell from how strained the smile she offered him was. 

  
Veronica was always the one keeping it together. She was the sibling who had quit her job to look after Mama after Papa died. She’d said she’d hated her office job, anyway. That it would be easier for her to get another one when Mama was better.

  
Two years and counting, and she still hadn’t applied anywhere.

  
Shay hovered behind the two daughters, giving the family a solemn smile. 

  
“Ma’am, your son-in-law will be okay. We’re keeping him here for a few days, just to give him a quick scan to check it is just a concussion. After he wakes up and his results come back clear, he can go home.”

  
At that, Veronica choked on her coffee. Mama pulled Lance away as though she’d been burnt. 

  
“Whoa, wait a second, son-“ Veronica began between coughs. 

  
“You’re getting married?!” Lance’s Mama shrieked.

Lance gawped at the nurse. “Uh…no, that’s not-“

  
“Why didn’t you tell us, Lance?!” Rachel gripped Lance by the shoulders and shook him roughly. Lance spluttered, trying to get a word out to say that this was all wrong, that this was an misunderstanding, but-

  
-But his Mama looked at him, beaming such a huge smile. All wrinkles of worry and grief were faded from her face, blinded by the happiness that shone over her features. Lance hadn’t seen her smile that way for years. 

  
“Lance, I’m…I’m so happy for you,” she whispered, tears dribbling down her cheeks. “I know I haven’t been around to notice but…you should have told me! I haven’t felt this happy in such a long time…oh my god, my baby’s growing up!” She buried her head into his shoulder. Veronica’s tired eyes seemed to fill with life. Even Rachel looked so much happier. 

  
Of course, their only son, youngest brother, had just gotten engaged. The news had lit a small beacon of hope in their lives, a small spark of joy in their family that had been shrouded with darkness for the past two years. 

  
Lance couldn’t crush their hopes. He turned to where Keith lay, unaware of the effect he’d had on his family already. 

  
“Aha, yeah.” Lance choked on a laugh, feeling his shoulder grow wet with his mothers tears - though this time, with happiness. “I put a ring on the idiot, didn’t I?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So…why did I end up here, with you, and why do those people think we’re married?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a crap editor so I'm sorry for any mistakes you find in this. Haha.

So, Lance knew he'd fucked up. From the moment the words had left his mouth, to now, where he's having to make up a story on how both he and Keith had met when he didn't even _know_ the guy. 

"How did you keep it a secret for so long? You haven't moved in together yet, have you?" Veronica asked, leant back against the wall. 

"No." Lance shook his head. "We're, uh, we-"

"You haven't even moved in together and you're _engaged_?" Rachel looked up from her phone with a frown. 

"Neither of our apartments have enough space and we don't have any money," Lance shrugged. A gentle hand placed itself on his shoulder.

“Lance, your father gave you that money just for something like this. Is this why you haven’t told us? Because you both can’t afford a wedding? You know I would have helped you both out.” Lance’s mother spoke, her voice shuddering slightly. It was the first time Lance had heard his mother talk about him. At least, without any tears. 

“Uh. No. We didn’t…You had so much on your mind, Mama, I just thought you’d have more on your mind. Besides, we weren’t even sure if it was gonna work but-“ 

“But now you’re engaged?” Again, Rachel looked suspicious. Damn his twin for knowing him so well! 

“Well, Keith’s like, painfully shy. I know you guys would coddle him so I just…I wanted to give him space. To meet you guys gradually, when he’s ready. But, guess that can’t happen now.”

“Aw, he sounds so _cute._ You’re going to invite him for dinner, aren’t you, Lance?”

“Yeah,” Lance grimaced at his mother. “Sure. I’m sure he’d love that. He’s been dying to meet you all, he’s just…very nervous. Definitely nervous.”

“No surprise there if he thinks that we’re all gonna be like _you_ ,” Veronica teased and prodded Lance in the stomach. 

Lance turned to look to Keith, feeling guilt churn in his stomach.

Until Keith’s brow twitched, and his head moved, and he groaned. He opened his eyes, just for a second, before they flinched shut again. Lance held his breath, waiting for the inevitable moment everything came crashing down - that his family would realise he’d lied to them, that Keith would _hate_ him and he’d ruin any chances of actually getting to know him - as though his chances hadn’t already been crushed the moment he agreed with the nurse that he was _engaged._

As if to rub it in, Keith turned his head, and his eyes opened to squint in confusion at Lance, and his family who had crowded tightly around him, holding back gasps. 

For a while, neither party moved. Lance was too scared - too scared that the moment he opened his mouth, the truth would come _out._

“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake!” Mama clapped her hands together from besides Lance, relief smoothing across her face. Keith’s frown deepened as he studied Lance’s mother’s face.

“I’ll go get a nurse,” Veronica rushed out the room. Lance tried to swallow the lump in his throat and _speak_ , but he _couldn’t_. 

“Uh…” Keith’s voice rasped, exhaustion and confusion clouding his eyes. “Who are you?”

And there it was. The inevitable moment that everything came crashing down. 

“How could you not remember your fiancé?! Oh goodness, Lance! What if he can’t remember you?”

Keith squinted at Lance. He could almost see the cogs in Keith’s mind whirring, trying to search for any memory of getting married. Of course, he’d find none. 

_Oh god, I hope he doesn’t have a boyfriend,_ Lance thought, panicked. 

“I don’t think-“ Keith began slowly.

“Mama! Rachel! Let us have some time alone,” Lance cut through, before Keith could out him. 

There was a gentle kiss on the back of his head. A loving smile. 

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart,” she smiled, taking one last worried glance at Keith, before leaving the room. 

Lance could see the smoke pouring out of Keith’s ears as he looked from Lance to his hand, still frowning, doubt clouding over his features. 

Lance sighed. It was time to tell the truth. “Okay. Before your mind completely implodes in on itself, we aren’t engaged,” Lance muttered. “I work at the station. Do you remember me?”

There was a moments hesitation, before Keith slowly nodded. “You always remember my ticket.”

Lance smiled a little. “Yeah. I do.”

“So…why did I end up here, with _you,_ and why do those people think we’re married?” Keith asked calmly. 

_And here it comes,_ Lance let out a long, tired sigh. “It’s a misunderstanding - I promise! The nurse told my family we were engaged - for _some_ reason - and now my mama thinks I’m getting married and I’ve never seen her so _happy_ before let alone smile so I went along with it so can you please go along with it too?” Lance rambled. “I’ll do _anything._ Just until you get discharged, then we’ll never have to see each other again. Ever.”

“ _What_?! Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?” 

And _there_ was the anger Lance was worried about. 

“You don’t understand, Keith. It’ll crush her. Please.”

“No! Why would I pretend to be _engaged_ to a random freak that lies to his family like that?! How did I even get here? Why are you still here?!” Keith seemed to shut down, drawing his knees to his chest. 

“Hey, that random _freak_ saved your fucking life!” Lance growled. “I don’t wanna get married to some selfish dick anyway.”

“Well, neither do I!” Keith yelled. Lance swiftly left the room and slammed the door behind him. As soon as he did, all anger deflated from him, and he sunk back against the door. 

_Well, time to tell Mama the truth._

_-_

He finds his mother towards the entrance, looking in one of the small newsagents shops kept inside. She had a couple of bottles of juice under her arms and a newspaper, and was looking at the small plush toys, hand to her chin in deep concentration. 

She was humming along to the song playing through the shop speakers. Lance had missed her singing so much. He his behind the magazine rack, just listening, trying to ingrain the image of his mother, so happy, into his mind before he inevitably crushed it.

She picked up a small plush bear, turning and startling at the sight of Lance. 

“Oh! Lance. Help me,” She nodded to the display of varying plush toys. “What one do you think Keith will like?”

“Uh, Ma, about that-“

“Is he a cat or a dog person? Or does he not like animals? Do you think he’d prefer food? I forget that not all adults still love teddy-bears like you.”  
Lance flushed red. “Mama! Not in public!” 

His Mama smiled cheekily. “Do you still sleep with Dr. McFluffles?” She teased, pinching his cheek. “I need to tell Keith about the time you left him at home when you went round Hunk’s for a sleepover and made such a fuss, your father had to drive him up there for you.”

“No! No you don’t! You are not telling him _anything_!” Lance squawked, only to get hit in the face by a red lion plush. 

“Relax. I’m not gonna tell him until _after_ I’ve shown him the baby pictures.”

“I’m putting myself up for adoption.”

She tucks the red lion under her arm, winking. “Finally.” 

“Hey!” Lance chases her through the store as she laughed, walking up to the counter and placing the drinks, snacks, and the toy on the counter. 

By the time they get out the store, they’re both laughing. Lance couldn’t remember the last time his mother had teased him - and it wasn’t until she handed Lance a candy-bar and told him she was going to grab a coffee before going back to Keith’s room, that he realised he’d completely forgotten to break the news to her.

But how _could_ he? 

-

Keith blinked at the chocolate bar Lance held out to him. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” Lance slumped down into the chair by Keith’s bedside. “I know it’s horrible of me to expect you to pretend to be engaged to a stranger. I am gonna tell mama, just - I tried earlier and she just looked so happy, I couldn’t crush that.” 

Keith fiddled with the chocolate bar in his hands, staring at the purple wrapper intently. “Why is she so upset?”

Lance let out a long sigh. Keith deserved at _least_ the truth. “My Papa died three years ago. She was broken and…well, since we’ve gotten into this mess, she’s smiled and laughed for the first time in _forever._ Like, a real smile. Not something that’s been forced on to try and convince me and my siblings she’s okay. She just…She has something else to focus on, and I can’t take that away from her yet. I _will_ tell her. I promise. But…”

“I…” Keith began. His frown had disappeared, features softened, and Lance felt hope tug at his chest-

Until the door opened and the smell of coffee beans wafted into the room. 

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Lance’s mother asked, making a beeline for Keith. She smoothed his hair gently from his face, tucked the rumpled sheets around his form, gave him a small kiss on the head as though she was tucking in a child for bed.

Keith, cheeks tinted pink, gawped at Rosa for a few seconds, before murmuring a: “good. Thanks.”

“I got you this,” She pulls from her bag the toy, and hands it to Keith. “I know Lance won’t be able to be with you in the hospital after visiting hours, and I didn’t want you to get lonely.” She smiled. 

Keith’s lips tugged into a small smile. “Thank you. Uh, that’s really kind of you.”

“Does he remember you?” She hissed at Lance. Though Keith could hear. 

His lips tugged a little into a smile. “Yeah. I remember him. Unfortunately.”

Lance, from behind his mother, flashed Keith the biggest smile he could muster. ‘Thank you.’

And when his mother turned back to Lance to hug him, muttering some kind of prayer thanking the heavens that Keith was okay, Keith’s smile fell, and he glared at Lance, mouthing back ‘you owe me.’

-

When visiting hours had started up again the next day, and Lance had come back with his mother (he’d stayed the night around hers, as she lived closer to the hospital, and she’d insisted on coming back), to visit Keith. Before they were allowed in his room, the doctor had pulled them to the side to get them to sign some forms. Keith was ready to go home. Today. 

lance should be happy - not only was Keith better, but they could put an end to this awkward encounter. Lance could quit his job at the station so he never saw Keith again, maybe throw himself into his studies, and forget this ever happened. 

Except, he kinda liked Keith, after the death-glares and insults following his confession subsided. 

After signing the forms, Shay lead them back to Keith’s room. He’d changed to a ward, now that he wasn’t staying too long, and another patient needed it more. When they’d arrived, Keith was still asleep. 

_This is the perfect time to tell her,_ Lance thought, but _again_ his mother was straightening the blankets on Keith’s bed, asking Lance questions like had they decided on a colour theme, what flavour the cake was gonna be - if she could pick the flowers and go suit shopping with them, and if they knew where they wanted to go for their honeymoon. 

“Mama, we haven’t thought about that yet,” Lance laughed nervously. 

“Then let me help you! It’s awful that you can only do it once in your life - it’s so fun!” 

Lance opened his mouth to protest, because she was getting too excited and it would only make things _harder,_ but Keith decided that would be the perfect opportunity to wake up. 

Lance found himself smiling genuinely at Keith - the way his hair was ruffled, his little frown as he shuffled. “Shiro?” He muttered, eyes pulling open - bleary with whatever painkillers they’d drugged him up on. “Hey, sleepy head!” He greeted as his Mama took a seat opposite, taking Keith’s hand with a smile. “Guess what?”

“Uh…I’m gonna die?” 

“No.” 

Keith huffed, feigning disappointment. 

Lance chuckled. “The nurses said you could go home today! I’ll drive you home when they’ve finished the paperwork.”

“I’m all clear?” Keith mumbled, still trying to get the haze of sleep away from his mind. 

“Yup, all clear. God timing, too! I was worried they were gonna keep you over Christmas,” Lance pretended.

“Are you spending Christmas with your family, Keith?” Lance’s mother asked softly.

“Nope,” Keith muttered bitterly, before his eyes widened. 

_Oh, shit._

“Leandro, _Alexander_ McClain,” Mama growled. “Your poor fiance is spending Christmas alone and you didn’t even _think_ to invite him round our home?!” She reached over and tugged on Lance’s ear. 

“Hey!” Lance slapped her hand away. “We wanted to - Keith’s shy! I didn’t think he’d wanna spend Christmas with so many people!” Lance rambled. “He never said he was spending it _alone._ ” Lance sent Keith a pointed glare. Keith looked ready to bolt. 

“It’s okay, Mrs. McClain. I’m not spending it alone. I was exaggerating.” Keith tried to fix. 

“Who are you spending it with?”

Now, his mother’s ‘mom glare’ wasn’t even directed at him, but even _Lance_ felt compelled to tell the full truth to her. 

Keith’s face flushed red, and he began rambling almost as much as Lance.

“I mean, I’ve got cats and they’re like, super evil so they’ll probably ignore me the whole day but they’re good company-“

“You’re coming round our house for Christmas,” she snarled at Keith. 

Keith gulped. “Uh. Yes, ma’am,” he muttered.

Her expression in that snap instant, completely changed. She smiled widely and clapped her hands together. “Excellent! Oh, Lance, this is going to be the best Christmas we’ve had in three years!”

Lance’s expression dropped. “Hah, yeah, mama. It will.”

Keith looked between the two awkwardly, offering Lance an apologetic smile. 

Lance, when his mother wasn’t looking, gave Keith the filthiest glare he could muster. 

-

When they left, Lance’s mother convinced Keith to ride shotgun next to Lance. Lance said he’d drop his mother off first - he claimed he wanted to stay around Keith’s apartment to make sure he settled in okay. That was part of the reason. The other part was that he needed to talk to Keith, stat. 

He dropped his mother off at his childhood home, smiling sadly at the tire swing hanging from the tree in the front garden. He caught Keith next to him, staring at it with some kind of wonder, even jealousy, which he quickly hid behind a look of indifference as soon as he caught Lance looking. 

Mama didn’t notice their exchange, and simply blew a kiss from the open window, claimed it was a pleasure to meet Keith, and that she’d see them both on the 23rd, no later than midday. 

When they began to drive again, Keith opened his mouth to speak. Lance quickly beat him to it. 

“I’m sorry you’ve been pulled into this mess I’ve made.” Lance sighed, hands gripping tighter on the steering wheel. “I know you don’t understand, but this means more to her, to _me_ than you know so…thanks for playing along. I know you don’t want to uh, actually stay round for Christmas, but it’s given her something to think about and look forward to as well. She’s gonna love making all the preparations for it. It’ll take her mind off of things for a while, at least.”

Lance continued to ramble, until Keith cut through:

“It’s okay. But you need to tell her.It’ll only get harder the longer you leave it.”

Lance sighed defeatedly, watching the sky fall to red, the sun setting behind the jagged city silhouette before them. “I know.”

-

They arrived at Keith’s apartment building. It was rundown, the brick outside scratched and crumbling. The inside smelt of cigarettes despite the clear _no smoking_ sign plastered on the front door, and the elevator had a peeling ‘out of order’ sign pasted to it. 

Lance followed Keith up three seemingly endless flights of stairs. The silence that had been lingering for a while grew heavier on Lance’s shoulders. 

Keith arrived at his apartment door. The distant sound of some form of electronic music throbbed through the ceiling. When he unlocked his door and pushed it open, two letters caught underneath it crinkled. 

Lance expected him to crouch down to pick them up, but he simply stepped over them, not even giving them a glance. 

Lance looked down, eyes drawn to the red writing printed over them.

_Urgent: Eviction Notice._

“Shit, uh, Keith? This isn’t junk mail. You might need to read it.” Lance lifted the letters up. 

As soon as he picked them up, they were snatched out of his grip. 

“Don’t nosey around my stuff,” Keith growled, still not looking at the letters. 

“Shit,” Lance muttered. “Those aren’t the first letters…are they?” His brain-to-mouth filter seemed to have been broken. 

Keith tore the letters up, throwing them into the bin. “Look. I’m fine in here now. You can leave.”

“Hey, uh, if you _do_ actually stay with my family and be my fiancé over Christmas, I’ll…I’ll pay your rent for you. To help you get back onto your feet again.”

“I don’t _need_ any help,” Keith snapped through grit teeth. “Look, Lance. I’m not gonna spend Christmas with your family. You’ve just gotta suck it up and tell your mother this was a massive understanding - that this was all _your fault_!”

Keith’s words felt like small darts of acid. Lance grit his teeth, biting down harsh words, apologies, pleads, and turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.
> 
> @woafofbread drew some beautiful fan art for chapter one of this fic!! Go give them some love <3 
> 
> https://woafofbread.tumblr.com/post/190260641644/petalsandpurity-heres-the-art-i-mentioned-sorry
> 
> (I don't know how to hyperlink in authors notes, if anyone knows pls let me know. I hate technology.)
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments so far (and the art!!!!!). It's very, very appreciated❤️💙


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His tutor was right; he was distracted.
> 
> Distracted by the letters piling through his door. By the handwritten ones clogging his draw. By the fact that Shiro’s room needed dusting but he still couldn’t bare to go inside. By the blue eyes and gleaming smile of a guy he was supposedly fake-engaged to.
> 
> Or, maybe not the latter anymore. He’d shut that idea down, hadn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late!! I hope it's worth it! We get to see things from Keith's perspective this chapter!
> 
> (And we get to see my boy James. I was so excited to finally write him ;) )

Keith slammed the lid of his laptop down with so much force, he had to open it back up quickly afterwards to check the screen was still intact. There was no way he could afford to repair it when he couldn’t even afford his own rent. 

The red lines and text covering his essay glare back at him, and Keith wasn’t sure if he’d prefer to have seen the cracks and a blank screen. 

_‘You sound distracted…I’m unable to link this example you’ve given to the text…you’ve_ ** _failed_** _to grasp the concept of-‘_

His tutor, after the painful criticism that riddled every inch of his work, had at least taken pity that only a week ago he’d been discharged from hospital, but still, Keith had been given an extension - he should have at least _passed_ this. 

Instead, he was given another couple of texts and told he had two weeks to do another essay - a second chance. 

Keith was terrified that it wouldn’t be any better. His tutor was right; he was distracted. 

Distracted by the letters piling through his door. By the handwritten ones clogging his draw. By the fact that Shiro’s room needed dusting but he still couldn’t bare to go inside. By the blue eyes and gleaming smile of a guy he was supposedly fake- _engaged_ to. 

Or, maybe not the latter anymore. He’d shut that idea down, hadn’t he?

He took one last despairing look back at his laptop before closing it back down. He needed to look for a new apartment - or someone who needed a roommate, but he couldn’t _afford_ anything. He only had a week to pay - he was so _scared_ he was going to have to drop out or end up on the streets, or both. 

Maybe he should drop out - clearly he wasn’t good enough. 

Keith quickly shook those thoughts away and rose to his feet, making sure to stomp over the letter by his door as he left for work. 

-

If there was one person in the world that Keith wouldn’t mind seeing hit by a car - no, a double decker _bus_ , twice over, it was James Griffin. 

He watched him run around in his pristine uniform. How he carried four plates with ease through the restaurant, always wearing that pleasant smile that settled so easily on his face. How it grew impossibly wider when customers practically threw their tips at him. Everyone _loved_ the charming young man who didn’t even _need_ this job. 

Yet here he was. He was such a contrast to the scruffy, black-haired kid who was lucky to even come in wearing the embroidered shirt of their uniform. Who couldn’t carry more than two plates at a time because he was too clumsy, and who’s awkward smiles were forced and just didn’t cut it compared to the literal ray of sunshine working alongside him. 

Keith sat by the bar, polishing cutlery. They’d just finished their lunch rush. James was helping an elderly lady out of her seat, stuffing the forty dollars she’d given him into his pocket and thanking her profusely. 

It was the same lady that had given Keith so, _so_ much hassle. She’d called him rude for saying that their food would be another ten minutes (even though he’d only taken their order twenty minutes prior to the complaint), and all she could do was swear at him and call him useless, no matter how many times he grit his teeth and tried to apologise to her. 

Iverson had seen the scene being cased and immediately called James out to ‘save the day’. For reasons beyond Keith’s comprehension, the lady actually _listened_ to James, placed a hand on his arm and proceeded to tell him her life story, and how _lucky_ the company was to have such a _smart_ young man. 

Needless to say, Keith was seething for the rest of the afternoon.

“See you later, Judith!” James waved, taking place by Keith’s side. The lady waved and pleasantly smiled at James.

“Have a nice evening,” Keith managed to chime out and force a smile.

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” she growled at Keith, before giving James another pleasant smile - almost giving the two boys whiplash with how quickly her attitude changed - and stepping out, leaving the restaurant completely empty. 

“Wow, and I thought you were exaggerating.” James frowned, watching the door click shut. He grabbed the second towel and began to help Keith polish. “Oh, here.” He reached into his pocket and handed Keith the tips ‘Judith’ had given him.

“I’m not your charity case,” Keith muttered.

“I know, but honestly, you’ve earned it having to deal with those…comments.” James set the notes onto the bar in front of Keith, leaving it there. “Oh yeah, are you okay now?” He asked, leaning up against the bar. “You said you were in hospital.”

“Some stupid kids kicked a football at me on a station and I fell onto the track,” Keith muttered. “Train was coming. Some train ticket officer managed to get me off before the train hit me. Kinda wish he didn’t.” Keith decided to leave out the part about the engagement.

James grimaced more than smiled. “Don’t say that.”

Keith just grunted, moving onto the desert spoons. “I’m sure you’d wish for it too if you weren’t getting evicted from your apartment.”

James let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Well, I did _offer_ to lend my couch for a few days, but _no_. Don’t wanna spend a sleepover with your best _buddy_.”

“I think if I had to spend any more time with you than I do at work, I’d get myself knocked onto the train track again.”

James snorted. “Well, just know my couch is always free. Literally, uni is kicking my ass - I’ve spent the last two nights having a sleep over in the library. How’s your writing going anyway?”

“Okay,” Keith answered quickly, ducking his head.

A long silence stretched between them. James made a few comments on customers that he’d served, trying to coax Keith back into conversation, but Keith wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore. 

It wasn’t long before the door opened again, and Keith took a deep breath, preparing himself for the inevitably busy evening.

“Hello, welcome to The Garrison-“ He stopped his drawl at the sight of _blue eyes_ , of Lance, looking brushed up and less…dishevelled than when they’d last seen each other, having the nerve to be wearing such a tight fitting blue shirt and hair gelled back and looking so-

“You didn’t tell me Keith worked here, Lance!” His mother, who Keith had only just noticed was standing right _next to him_ , perked up, a smile stretching widely across her tired features. “Keith! How are you, honey? I can’t believe it’s been a week already!” She pulled Keith into a tight hug. He could see James standing nearby, jaw dropped.

“Uh, I’m good thanks, Ms. McClain.” 

“How many times have I told you, Keith? It’s Rosa. You can call your future mother-in-law by her fist name!”

“Sure, sorry,” Keith gave Rosa a pleasant smile, before trying to catch Lance’s eye. He refused to meet Keith’s glare, simply looking to the carpet. 

_So he hadn’t told her the truth, yet._

“Lance, why didn’t you say he worked here?” Rosa proceeded to swat Lance with her handbag.

“Haha, yeah, I forgot he was working today,” Lance chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“You should have asked Keith to book us in,” Rosa huffed. “A table for three, please.”

Keith looked over Rosa’s shoulder, though could see no one else with them. He looked to Lance with a frown.

“For two, Mama,” Lance mumbled softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

“Oh. Yes. Two.” 

Keith felt something ache in his chest. 

“Uh, yeah. I’ll show you guys to a table.” Keith lead them to the other side of the restaurant. Far, far away from his station at the bar, out of sight. He pulled out a chair for Rosa to take a seat, beginning to recite practised lines he could probably say in his sleep, about drinks, specials, before forcing a smile and turning on his heel.

Only to crash straight into James.

“Whoa! Careful,” James muttered, grabbing Keith by the arm and tugging him into the kitchen. The young boy on pot wash gave them both an odd look, holding an armful of plates stacked so high it was a surprise he could see over them.

Once he’d left, James’s eyes sparkled. “Okay, spill. Since when were _you_ getting married?!”

_Fuck,_ thought Keith, not thinking when James pulled up his hand, noticing there was no ring on his finger.

“Where’s the ring?”

“I, uh,” he trailed off. “Lost it on the track. Gutted.” He quickly added: “Lance says they haven’t found it yet.”

“Lance? Is that the lucky guy out there?” James bounced up to the kitchen door, looking through the small window to watch Lance and his mother. “Oh, wow, look at _you_. He is so hot. Keith, you’re so lucky.”

“Hah, yeah,” Keith shuffled awkwardly.

“So, when’s the wedding?” James asked, still watching Lance like a _fucking creep._

Keith shrugged. “haven’t started planning it, I guess.”

“My mom can cater for you guys if you need it. Wait, when did you get together? You never mentioned a guy to me?”

Keith hesitated. How did he respond to that?

“Why would I mention my boyfriend to my annoying, nosy-ass coworker?” Keith teased, tugging James away from the door and pushing it open. “I’ll tell you the details later, we’ve gotta get to work before Iverson fires us again.” _Later, when I’ve thought of a story to tell you._

“Fine. But you’d _better_ tell me, Kogane.”

-

Lance’s mother seemed solemn. She’d eaten hardly any of her food and yet, whenever Keith came round to check on them, or pour them another glass of wine, she smiled so brightly, he could finally see not only how Lance felt, but how Rosa felt, too. The distant look in her eyes, the fatigue, the constant shuffling from feeling as though you were forgetting something, or had lost something - of something being out of place, not quite right. Of something _missing._

Keith found himself checking on them more often than necessary. He would stay longer to talk to her between orders, feel a little sense of pride and achievement every time he managed to make her smile (which was pretty easy, Keith had found). 

At the end of the meal, Rosa slipped a large tip into Keith’s pocket and hugged him goodbye, telling him he should visit for dinner one day, before christmas. Before Lance followed her out, Keith stopped him, and in a split decision scrawled his number quickly onto a napkin and pushed it into Lance’s hand.

Keith hoped that the look he gave Lance conveyed all the words he couldn’t say, for fear of Rosa overhearing. Lance had only taken the napkin and gave Keith a nod, before following her out of the restaurant. 

By the end of the shift, James and Keith sat on a table together, eating leftovers that their chef, Sal, would always save. Keith needed it because his cupboards were empty and the past weeks worth of work had really capped his wages. James simply stayed for the food because he wanted to keep Keith company, apparently.

It was easy to steer James clear of the Lance related subject, asking James about _his_ love interest instead. It was a guy called Ryan, who was in James’s pilot class and did a couple of shifts here in the kitchen from time to time. James was smitten, so it was easy to keep him rambling about how perfect he was.

They’d finished their food quickly, locking up and heading on their way home. James offered to drive Keith - it was dangerous to walk home in the dark alone, but Keith politely declined, as usual. 

(And by politely, he meant telling James he’d rather be mugged than experience James’s shitty driving ever again.)

As he walked home, he put his hands into his coat pockets to try and ward away the winter chill. His hand wrapped around a couple of crisp notes.

James had slipped his tips into Keith’s pocket, again. Keith sighed.

He hated that James felt the need to offer up his tips to him all the time, and hated it even more that he needed the money too much to give it back.

-

His bedroom was shrouded in darkness, headphones over his ears and blaring music loud enough that when he took them off to sleep later, he’d at least have the temporary buzz that followed to distract him from how silent his apartment was. 

Red’s comforting weight draped over his legs. He could feel the small rise and fall of her stomach, reassuring him as he scribbled frantically in his notebook, trying to ignore how heavy his shoulders felt. 

Black had been yowling by the front door, but she would only pace up and down the hall of the apartment, not following Keith downstairs to go out. She’d sniffed the carpet and the air and, when not being able to find what she was searching for, she began to yowl again. 

Keith knew she didn’t want to go out, but he couldn’t accept the other reason. 

Instead, he wrote a letter, as though he was going to post it and not lock it away in the draw. He wrote of Lance, of his predicament, of how guilty and _selfish_ he’d felt. 

How could he have so defiantly refused to help stop someone feeling what he knew all to well?

He let out a deep sigh, eyes straining through the darkness, the sliver of the moon through his messily drawn curtains roviding him little light to see what he was writing. He should be asleep - he had class tomorrow, early. He was bound to see Lance again. Maybe that was why he found himself wide awake at 3am. Maybe it was the fact that he had six days to pay his rent, and he still had no idea where he was going to get the money. 

Maybe it was because his phone had lit up with a text from an unknown number earlier, and he was too scared to read it. 

His writing petered out, his nervous energy becoming more of a hinderance rather than a fuel to his flow, and he tossed his book to the side, grabbing his phone and flopping back down onto the bed. He noticed Black pacing in his room, finally settling on the windowsill, pushing the curtains further apart to look outside.

To distract from the ache in his chest, he quickly grabbed his phone, grit his teeth, and looked at the message. 

_Unknown: Hey, it’s Lance. I just wanted to apologise for forcing you to pretend to be engaged to me. It’s stupid, and I should just be able to tell my family the truth but_

_Thank you for going along with it. Especially today, even though last time you made it clear you weren’t gonna play along anymore. If you still need that money I can give you the cheque tomorrow. You did help me out, after all._

The text sounded so final, as though Keith would reply with a simple ‘it’s okay’ or ‘don’t mention it’ and they’d carry on their lives as though they’d never met. 

Keith _couldn’t_ allow that to happen. Something tugged at his chest, rolling onto his side and thumbing out a reply. 

_K: I don’t want to become your charity case, Lance._

_K: But I’ve got under a week before I get kicked out. I really don’t wanna ask for your help so if you do help me out with rent, I’ll spend Christmas with your family. When I can, I’ll pay you back._

Keith waited nearly ten minutes for a reply. It felt like hours, sitting there in the cold apartment, holding his breath as he stared at the brightly glowing screen. 

_L: Are you sure?_

_K: I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure. But ONLY for Christmas. You’ve gotta tell her afterwards._

_L: Thank you. Seriously, Keith. How much do you need? You’re coming down to the station, tomorrow, right? I’ll give it to you then._

Keith tells him, and tells him he’ll be there. 

_K: If it’s too much don’t worry about it. I’ll sort something out._

_L: No! It’s fine! Don’t worry so much, mullet. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams :)_

Keith smiles, thumbs out a goodnight, unable to help the small smile tugging at his lips, already feeling a little weight slip away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a playlist for this fic! (Or, I've had it a while, but I keep forgetting to tell people, haha.) Here's the spotify link! :)
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1nwZj7sPpJffGu3ty5QQ6c?si=SW9tRuJuRbKKoGu5ONpVtQ


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance try to talk.

When the image of Keith had appeared through the dewy glass of the window, shoulders hunched and hands stuffed deep into his pockets, Lance felt his stomach churn. He’d been fidgeting all morning, in the ticket office, weary and freaking _out._

The door squeaked open and Lance turned around, pretending to ‘act natural’ and read through the fire-safety poster (which, on second thought, was totally _not_ natural - who actually read those things?). He hummed along to the tinny tune of the radio, off-key and not even the right _song,_ hands tugging nervously at his sleeves. 

Okay, so maybe Lance wasn’t acting natural. At all. But he at least made an effort. Albeit and effort that just made things _worse._

There was a small sound of Keith clearing his throat. Lance shot round way too quickly, leaning an elbow up against the top of the window. “Hey, Keith! How’s it going?” He asked, stuttering and stumbling over his words. 

Keith looked an absolute _mess_ , and yet Lance still felt heat rushing to his cheeks. Keith’s own cheeks were flushed from the cold, hair ruffled by the wind - had he even brushed it? His eyes were smudged with smoky-black bags, and he held a can of ridiculously sugary energy drink in his hand. 

Looks like someone was suffering after being up at 3am. Lance felt the same way. 

“Uh. Hi. Can I-“

“Already on it, man,” Lance clacked the buttons on the computer, printing out Keith’s tickets. He reached into his jacket slung over the back of his chair, bringing out the cheque he’d rushed to write last night. 

“There.” He hands the ticket and the cheque over to Keith, offering him a small smile. Keith returns it, though his shoulders seem to weigh down a little as he takes it. 

“Thank you,” Keith mumbles, sipping at his drink.

“I think we need to go on a date, when are you free?” 

Keith chokes. “A-A what?!”

“I mean, not a _date,_ date,” Lance reassures, frowning. “I mean, like, going out somewhere to actually _talk_ to each other. We’re supposed to be getting married and I know _nothing_ about you.”

There was a long moments hesitation from Keith. So long, Lance craned his neck round to check no one else was waiting in the queue. Thankfully, it was quiet enough. 

“I’m, um, free after class.”

“And where exactly is your class, and where does it end?”

Keith mumbles out that the university he goes to is just down the road from the station Keith gets off at - which Lance has ingrained into his mind - and that he can meet him at a coffee shop just nearby. 

“It’s a date. I’ll see you there, Mullet!” Lance shoots finger-guns at Keith, who splutters. 

“It’s not a date!” 

-

The clock ticked by slowly. Keith leant his chin on his hand, letting out a deep sigh, Kolivan’s dull drawl becoming a low buzz in the back of his mind. 

It was another sleepless night. Black had been yowling repeatedly, and her upset had began to rub off on Red, who had soon joined her. He was already in deep shit with his landlord and didn’t want _another_ reason to kick him out, and didn’t need a complaint filed from the neighbours, so had spent the rest of the night trying to quiet them down. He knew what - or more, _who_ they wanted, and with each pitiful cry, he felt closer and closer to yet _another_ breakdown, which he couldn’t afford to have because he was just _tired_ of crying and hurting and just needed-

“-your opinion on The Foghorn, Keith?”

Keith jolted out of his thoughts, sitting up and skimming his eyes over the text in front of him. “Uh,” he draws out. He’d skimmed read the text at best at home - trying to read it over and over, but was unable to make the words sink in. On a whiteboard were messily scrawled words to describe the text. Of loneliness, and history, and darkness. “I’d say it was a tragedy,” he tried to sound confident, wincing at the long silence that followed. At the few confused looks he was given. 

Kolivan, his professor, cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s necessarily the right word to use, but I get what you mean,” he replied kindly. “Let’s put sadness, shall we?”

A valiant save for Keith’s failed attempt, but that didn’t mean that Kolivan let Keith go when the workshop had ended. 

“Keith? A word?” Kolivan had asked just before Keith hightailed it out of the room. Keith huffed and took a seat on the desk, letting his backpack drop back to the ground. 

Kolivan was not only teaching their _Short-Stories and Poetry_ module, but also was allocated as Keith’s personal tutor. Meaning he’d taken it upon himself to constantly attempt to pry into Keith’s personal life. 

“You seem distracted again, Keith. Is everything okay?” He asked, packing various books into his satchel. “It seemed like you hadn’t read the text at all this week - which isn’t like you. I thought you liked Bradbury?”

“I do, I just…I’m sorry,” Keith ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be better next time, I’ll get myself together, I promise.”

Kolivan frowned. “I’m not worried about your performance in class, Keith. I _know_ you’re an excellent writer. I’m worried about _you._ ” 

“You don’t need to be,” Keith brushed him off, getting to his feet. “I’m fine.”

Kolivan let out a sigh, and he hesitated, but he didn’t ask Keith to stay, so Keith left. 

-

Maybe Lance still wasn’t feeling quite so great about this whole ordeal. He’d had three calls from his mother already about Christmas and wedding plans, and it was only just midday.

He sighed, sinking further into his arms. The sound of steamers squealing and the piercing clutter of cups only made his headache worse.

“Lance, please stop moping on my counter.” A coffee cup was pushed his way. 

“But Hunk!” Lance whined. “My life is falling apart! Cut your best friend some slack, would you?”

“Pidge said I can’t sympathise because you brought it upon yourself.”

“So?!” Lance let out a groan, taking his coffee. Hunk’s expression remained blank. Lance huffed. “Fine, fine. I’m going.”

Lance whirled around, ready to stomp away and make a point to ignore Hunk for the rest of the day. Just as he took a step forward, he crashed straight into-

“Keith?!” Lance straightened up quickly. “What’re you doing here?!”

“Uh…we agreed to meet here?” Keith frowned, the sound of music coming from his headphones that were slung around his neck. 

“Wait, you meant _that_ Keith?” Hunk exclaimed.

“You know _him_?” Lance glanced between the two with wide eyes. 

“Yeah, he comes here all the time! I’ll get your usual and bring it over to you,” Hunk gave Keith a smile. 

“Thanks-“

Lance cut Keith off. “He gets table service?! Why don’t _I_ get that kinda treatment?!” 

“I _did_ give you table service. Your table just so happened to be my counter. For _some reason.”_

-

Hunk dropped Keith’s coffee off, took the loose change that had been left on the table and scampered away. Lance wished he could do the same - it was _so awkward._ Keith had barely said a word since they’d sat down, merely studying the dents in the wooden table, and well…Lance had no idea where to start, either.

Eventually the silence became too painful and Lance just _had_ to break it. “Uh. So, you know Hunk?” Lance decided to start. 

“Not really. I just come here a lot so he remembers my name, I guess.” 

“Oh.”

Another silence. Keith cradled his coffee cup in his hands, sighing a little. He still looked utterly _exhausted_ , his eyes bleary and barely keeping open. Lance sighed, deciding to get things moving before Keith fell asleep on him.

“Look, this can’t happen.”

Keith looked up with a crooked brow. “What can’t?”

“ _This._ Us being…awkward. Even if we pretend, we’ve got to be closer. We’ve got to _try_ and not make it seem like we’re being forced into being together.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” 

“Well, we need to actually know more about each other than our names, to start,” Lance began. “Also, we need to work out how we first met? My family are _bound_ to ask that.”

Keith fiddled with the sleeves of his jumper nervously. “Uh. Yeah. We can, uh, we can find out about each other,” he stuttered out awkwardly. 

Lance frowned. “Okay.” Lance took it he’d be starting most of the conversations today. “So, you write?”

Keith nodded with a hum. _What a great talker,_ he thought, watching Keith shuffle awkwardly.

“What kind of stuff?” Lance asked.

“Poetry, mainly,” Keith answered, still looking down at his coffee cup. “I write short stories, too, letters…uh, I’m made to write just about everything else.”

“Made to?”

“I study writing,” Keith shrugged.

“You must really like books then, huh?” Lance asked, cringing afterwards. Dammit, Keith’s awkwardness was rubbing off on him.

“Well, obviously,” Keith rolled his eyes, but laughed, easing up a little. “If they didn’t I’d have dropped out - I’ve got _so_ much to read this week.”

“I don’t envy that,” Lance grimaced, though was glad Keith was easing up a little. “Favourite authors? Or, uh, poets?”

At that question, Keith’s eyes lit up a little. “Erin Hanson - she’s a poet - I love her style. Anything gothic, too? It’s more what I write so it feels a little more like…home, I guess, when reading it. King’s pretty cool, too. I kinda like a bit of everything,” he rambled, before stopping, and blushing as though embarrassed he’d talked so much. “What about you?” He asked more quietly.

“o-oh, I don’t really read that much. Uh, nothing intellectual anyway,” Lance mumbled, wincing at the memory of the copy of Twilight in the bottom of his draw. “Uh, I like the stuff I used to read as a teen or a kid. For the nostalgia,” Lance mumbled. “Anything that made me cry was always a good book in my eyes so - John Green?”

Keith nodded with a frown. “Huh.”

“I’d like to read more though,” Lance pressed, _maybe yours?_

“I can lend you a few books,” Keith blurted, before flushing bright red. “If you want to of course, no pressure.”

“No way! That’d be cool,” Lance smiled. “They’ve gotta be good if a writer likes them.” Another silence fell between the two, before lance quickly filled it again. “Hey, when I was like, nine, I wrote a book!”

This seemed to pique Keith’s interest. His eyebrows raised a little. “You did?”

“Yeah! It was about my pet hamster being a spy. The adventures of Tofu McClain, I called it! My Papa illustrated it for me and bought it for like, £2 so I could buy some sweets.” 

Keith stared at Lance a second, a fond smile on his face. In a blink, it had changed into a sly grin. 

“Isn’t that already a movie?”

“That was guinea pigs,” Lance corrected. “And G-Force was the _shit_ back in the day, okay? So what if I copied like, 90% of the film.”

Keith laughed, making Lance join in. Some of the tension and weight that settled on his shoulders seemed to lift. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere near the direction Lance wanted it to go - _they needed to plan out their backstory so they could be on the same wavelength to fool his family!_ But Keith looked happy, and Lance couldn’t risk taking that smile back away from his face. 

“Do you have any pets?” Lance asked.

“I have a cat,” Keith replied, “She’s called red.”

Lance was quickly shoved Keith’s phone. A photo of a ginger cat sitting on the windowsill of an apartment window was broadcast on the screen. 

“Oh! I remember you telling Mama at the hospital about them - wait, don’t you have two?”

Keith pulled the phone back, wrapping his arms around himself, smile falling. “Yeah. Black was, uh…a friends. I’m looking after her.”

Lance should have left it there - it was clear how Keith shut off that he didn’t want to talk about it.

But Lance was never one for spotting social queues. Especially not from cute boys in coffee shops. So he continued to pry. 

“Friend? Where are they?”

He briefly thought of the other waiter in The Garrison - he and Keith seemed kind of close, but not _that_ close. 

Keith grew more tense, looking pointedly out the window, the red from the setting sun glaring across his features, casting shadows across his eyes as he glared at the distance. “Out of country.” He sounded unsure with his words, however short and sharp they were. Lance noticed his eyes glisten, become distant. 

Lance opened his mouth to attempt to change the subject, aware of the suddenly thick air between them, when Keith shot to his feet, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. His chair screeched horribly against the wooden floor. 

“I’ve got to go.” Keith muttered. “I’ll see you around, maybe.”

Lance blinked. Before he knew it, Keith was up and leaving the shop. “Wait, wait!” Lance chased after Keith. “You can’t leave - Keith!” 

The door to the coffee shop shut in his face, and when Lance finally got out, Keith was already too far away, walking far too quickly to warrant Lance to attempt to follow again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is kinda short - I went back to uni this week so things have been hectic trying to settle back into the swing of things. I hope you enjoyed it regardless!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and his very bad, not at all good, pretty terrible, shitty, day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna post this tonight after one last read through but the storm in the uk is whooping our asses (bc we're never prepared for ANYTHING weather related) and I'm probably gonna struggle getting a train home at a decent time from uni today... so have it now, haha.

It took Keith all of an hour to get back home. He threw some food into Red and Black’s bowls, shrugged into his work uniform, and raced down to the restaurant. 

Only to be plunged into complete and utter _chaos._

For a Tuesday night, of all days, it was complete and utter chaos. Keith, upon entering through the back door, first heard James screaming in the kitchen. “Don’t these people have fucking _ovens_ in their own houses?! What fucking _losers_ go out on a _Tuesday?!_ ”

It was so busy, Iverson was getting his hands dirty for once, helping man the restaurant. Keith and James were usually the only two on front of house for the Tuesday shift, and Sal the only chef, because the most they’d ever sold in the winter period on a bloody Tuesday night was _ten people._ And right now, looking at the full restaurant, Keith was pretty sure it was wracking up to be at least 60 in this _hour._

Keith grabs the plates, watching Sal frantically rush up and down the kitchen, face red and shirt already splotched with numerous stains. Keith almost felt sorry for the guy, if he wasn’t such a _dick_ all the time. 

“Where’re we going?” James rushed up behind him, his usually perfect hair ruffled. He had a splash of red wine on the sleeve of his shirt, and he looked ready to walk. 

“Ten,” Keith mumbled. James took the final few plates and followed him out. A customer immediately complained their food was cold. Another lady, who’s earrings were probably worth more than Keith’s entire apartment, decided that she wanted a refund because they’d been waiting for over half an hour and their food wasn’t ‘up to par’.

James followed Keith with the plate back to the kitchen, letting out another ungodly shriek. “Let me deal with this. I’ve had enough of their _shit,_ ” James growled, stomping right into the kitchen, tugging open the microwave and shoving the plate inside, slamming it closed and glaring at it spinning inside. 

Sal didn’t give him a second glance. Keith turned on his heel to go back into the restaurant, when Sal yelled ‘service!’

“Kogane, I need you _out here,_ for fucks sake!”

Keith could already feel his chest start to seize up, but he knew he couldn’t take a breather, not when they were this busy. He tried to ignore it, grabbing the plate. On his way out, Iverson screaming at him all the way, someone tried tugging his sleeve to get him to take their order, another person shouted for a bill, the man on the table he was headed toward looked way too much like _Shiro_ that for a second he thought it _was_ him, but it _couldn’t_ be him, because he was _gone_ and maybe-

Maybe Keith’s brain just…stopped. And he was standing, staring at the floor where he’d dropped the plates. His ears rang, as though he’d been plunged underwater, and he could hear Iverson distantly screaming at him. James had collided with him on his rush out of the kitchen door. 

With that jolt, all sound and _everything_ came back way too quickly, too intensely, and he just _couldn’t._ He could only stare numbly at his hand, crimson trickling down it and seeping into the carpet, smeared all over the shard of plate he was holding in his desperate attempt to pick everything up. 

Arms pulled Keith to his feet, dragging him back into the kitchen. James forced him to take a seat on the counter and shoved him the medical kit. 

“You’re not leaving that spot until _I_ say. Not Iverson, _me,_ got it?” James’s glare was frightening. 

Keith managed only to nod numbly, watching James flit about, grabbing plates, bringing them back, growing more and more flushed, dishevelled, and stressed.

Keith wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the door crashed open and Ryan rushed inside, still in his casual-wear. He spared Keith only a small glance before rushing out to the front, completely forgetting to even clock in. 

Keith wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there, staring numbly into space, before a cold glass of water was pressed into his hands. 

“New system,” James mumbled to Keith. “You’re running food - little Leo on pot wash has agreed to help you. I’m gonna take orders and do most of the front work,” James flashed him a smile. “If you’re up for it?”

“Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”

James and Keith ended up staying an extra hour helping ‘little Leo’ finishing off his washing up, so they could all leave together. The restaurant was still a mess - Ryan was still out on the bar, but had urged them all to go home, that he would handle it. Keith wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and forget that this day - the _whole_ day, that felt more like a week - never even happened. 

After they’d shut everything down, they’d walked out the back together, into the chilled, cold air. Keith took a deep breath, finally filling his lungs with something that actually felt like _real air,_ and not the warm, stuffy air he’d been struggling to breathe in all day. 

“Hey, kid, want a ride home? It’s late,” James checked his watch for good measure. Keith wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. 

The small, latino boy who barely looked old enough to even _have_ a job, shook his head, gesturing to the rattling car in the car park. “My mama’s picking me up.”

“Good,” James nodded, patting him on the back. “Thanks for all your help today! I know Iverson is a piece of shit and didn’t say it, but really, we couldn’t have done tonight without you. So thanks. I’ll make sure you get a share of our tips.”

The boy thanked them and waved goodbye. Keith was about to bid James a goodbye and finally get himself _home_ , when James stopped him. 

“My car. Now.”

-

James’s car was brand new. He’d only gotten it last month, and _god_ did Keith hate it. It had a convertible roof, and some other shit Keith didn’t take notice of when James had spent a good half hour rambling on and on to him about it one day. He had the window of his car down, letting the chill in, lips never leaving his cigarette as he puffed smoke out into the darkness. 

Slow, mellow tunes of some sad-bastard rock song filtered quietly through the car. Keith’s hands were still shaking - had been for the entire night. Had been since the chat with Lance. 

_Lance_ , god dammit. Keith had _no idea_ what to do. He’d asked such a _simple_ question, and Keith had just bolted. He could have lied, could have made a story up - why did he even mention Shiro in the first place?

Or, not mention. But he could have just _avoided_ that entirely. Like he always does. 

“Hey, solving the problems of the world, again?” James joked, throwing the stub of his cigarette out the window. Keith watched the small red spark get completely consumed by the darkness, disappearing somewhere in the abyss. 

“Iverson was a _dick_ for yelling at you.” James continued. “It was his fault for not calling in someone. I _told_ him Ryan would work, but _no._ Didn’t wanna cash out for another person.”

“Didn’t Ryan turn up?” Keith was certain he saw him amidst the panic.

“Yeah, because I asked, and threatened that we’d both walk if he didn’t bring him in.”

Now, that was a scary thought. What would Keith have done if he lost his job? He grit his teeth, feeling anger flush through him, briefly. 

“Can you _not_ bring me into shit like that?!”

“He’d never fire us,” James waved Keith off, “who else would flirt with the old ladies?” He winked, though his expression fell. “Dude, are you sure you’re okay? You look _ill._ ”

“Just need to go home,” Keith muttered, crossing his arms and turning to look out the window. He felt James put his foot down on the accelerator just a little bit more. 

Maybe, back at home, the darkness was heavier. Keith was _exhausted,_ his mind fogged over and barely able to think, his limbs aching even though he’d done shifts twice as long and just as busy. 

He threw his bag onto the kitchen counter and shuffled towards his bedroom. He stopped, just in front of Shiro’s door, found himself shuffling inside. 

At some point he found himself sat on the small single bed, with Black in his arms, hands shaking as they held the photograph Shiro had forced Keith to take when he’d come back for a few months. Shiro was still in his uniform, army-green clashing with Keith’s red jacket, both smiling so easily, so carelessly, like the floor _wasn’t_ going to be tugged from under their feet just a few months later. 

After a rough day, he’d always come to Shiro. They’d always sit down and talk it out, until Keith had exhausted the subject and no longer felt bad about it. He missed the way that Shiro treated every problem Keith had - even if it was simply that he’d lost his favourite pen - like it was his own problem, and they’d sit. They’d solve it. And Keith was able to feel like he never had to deal with anything alone. 

He missed Shiro. Missed having someone to lean on. Someone to go to when everything went to _shit._ Missed having a friend- 

There was a low buzzing sound. A pale glow lightened up the room. Keith was tempted not to answer, but at this rate, the silence and his own thoughts were going to _crush him._ So, even if it was just some company trying to sell him things he couldn’t care less about, if it was the dentist asking if Mr. Shirogane was going to book a new appointment because his bi-annual check-up was overdue, he just _needed_ to hear another voice.

“Hello?”

“Keith!” Came an exclamation, as though they were surprised Keith had even picked up. There was a cough, a deep breath. “I, uh, I mean - hey, Keith! Uh…” Lance stuttered awkwardly. Keith could hear shuffling on the other end of the line - was he pacing? “I just…I’m sorry, for whatever happened back at the coffee shop. Whatever I did to upset you, I’m sorry! I’m a spontaneous guy - Hunk says I always use my mouth before my brain and that means I say shit that isn’t okay, so. Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s okay,” Keith found himself smiling at Lance’s continuous rambling. “Sorry. I was having a rough day - still am, kinda. It wasn’t your fault.”

There was a deep sigh. “Thank _god._ I thought you were gonna, like, hate me forever or something.”

Keith laid back on Shiro’s bed, letting out a small chuckle. “Hate you? How can I hate the guy I’m gonna get married to?”

“Ugh,” Lance groaned. “We didn’t even _talk_ about what we were meeting up for!”

“And what’s that?” Keith rolled onto his stomach, leaning his head on his arm. 

The shuffling stops, then Keith hears a loud creak. “I wanted us to organise our whole amazing ‘how we met’ story. My family _will_ ask for very specific details, and _will_ notice if they don’t add up. We’re all raised on Scooby Doo and Blues Clues, like, we _loved_ solving mysteries and shit. Marco’s a _detective_ \- oh god, how are we gonna fool him?! It’s his job to find out whether people are lying-“

Keith listened to Lance ramble on and on, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“And then there was that one time that Veronica convinced me that penguins didn’t exist - like, that they were like unicorns. Fake.” Lance continued on and on, his voice falling to a low, comforting hum in the back of Keith’s mind, pushing away all the memories of the buzzes from the till and the shouts of customers. Away from the realisation that he still had a paper to rewrite, a session with Kolivan tomorrow to try and save his grade-

It all falls to static, covered by Lance’s soothing voice. 

And maybe they don’t end up talking about how they both met, how they inevitably fall in love. 

But Keith did learn a _lot_ about the amount of love and adoration Lance had for his family. 

It hurt. _God,_ it hurt. Especially when he could still smell Shiro’s cologne on his pillow, see his favourite jacket still hanging on the back of his bedroom door. He wished he had the guts to reminisce his favourite memories with Shiro, like Lance had done with his brothers and sisters, but-

But he let Lance talk, and talk, and talk. And maybe, when he woke up in the morning, still in Shiro’s room, Lance had hung up, leaving a text message behind. 

_I can’t believe you found me that boring!! >:(_

_Sweet dreams, though, Mullet. <3_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance talk first dates. Keith gets a break. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here!!! Sorry it was late - life, am I right? I would say the next one will come sooner but I have lots of assignments due for the next couple of months so uh, updates might be a little random for a while. 
> 
> Writing about Keith doing his work makes me stress about my own lmao.

Lance arrived at his and Keith’s usual meet up place (was it usual? They’d only met up twice-), that wasn’t the station. Apparently it was a good place for a tutorial, according to Keith. In a rush that morning before he caught the train, he’d asked Lance to meet up with him there after he’d finished a session with one of his tutors there. 

Christmas was drawing up close, now. Lights had been put up around town - red and green and gold lighting up the usually grey and dismal town centre. Even though it was cold, the sun shone brightly onto the pavement, gleaming in the remnants of the rain and blinding Lance. 

A gust of wind blew, so strong Lance was almost swept from his feet. He huddled further into his jacket, rushing to the coffee shop. 

He quickly pushed the door open, being hit by the heavenly aroma of coffee and baking - a blanket of warmth falling to settle onto his shoulders. He came here often, especially between classes - and it seemed Keith did, too. It was strange that Lance had never come across him until now.

It was also a shame that the place was run by the family that were best friends with his own family. As soon as he reached the counter, the woman standing behind it gave a shriek. 

“Lance! Congratulations!” 

He was swaddled in a hug from a large woman, who scooped him up and almost lifted him off of his feet. She smelt of freshly baked bread and lavender - always had done. Lance remembered all the times he got into an argument with his mama and papa, how he’d pack his bag and claim to be running away to live with the Garrett's - sometimes slamming the front door twice behind him if the first time wasn’t loud enough. He’d walk next door to where his best friend, Hunk, and his family lived, and Mrs. Garrett would swoop him in. She’d give him a plate full of whatever baked goods she was experimenting with and she’d hug him and talk it through, then she’d walk him back home. 

She had always been a second mother to Lance, someone separate from his family to talk to. 

“Uh, hello Mrs. G?” No matter how many times she’d told him, he’d never call her by her name. It would feel weird if he _didn’t_.

She pulled away, pulling Lance’s hand up to her face.  
“No ring?” She frowned. 

Lance tugged his hand back. “I-I proposed,” Lance replied, trying to keep his cool and subtly giving Hunk death glares over the woman’s shoulder. He took a lot of interest in organising the muffins on their display.

“Oh, of course! Come! I have a new recipe that you need to try!” 

Lance was shoved a flapjack and his usual coffee only a couple of minutes later, and told not to worry about the bill. In the few minutes Mrs. G ran around the kitchen, Lance had found out from a very guilty Hunk that it was in fact Mama that had told Mrs. G what had happened. In great detail. They’d both been screaming about it ever since. 

_Fan-fucking-tastic,_ Lance had thought, turning and spotting a certain mullet sitting in the corner of the shop, an older man decked in tartan and leather gesturing at a laptop. Keith did _not_ look like he was having a good time. 

Lance took a seat nearby enough to hear snippets of what they were saying.

“-there’s absolutely no evidence for this, Keith! These bold claims and comparisons are fine, even if they are a little out there, but you need evidence to back it up! And your sentence structure here is awkward and way too long. It just feels like you haven’t put _any_ effort into this.” The man sighed. “Look, I know you probably have other things on your mind, but I _need_ you to focus. If you’re handing in pieces like this, I’m not going to be able to give you a grade for this module, and I really don’t want to lose you, Keith. You’ve got so much potential but you’ve just got to _focus._ ”

Even then, as Lance peeked from behind his coffee cup, he could see Keith was already zoning out, just quietly nodding as he wrung his sleeves. The man had muttered something Lance couldn’t quite hear, before taking his leave. 

Lance fled to the counter before Keith could turn and spot him. 

-

He came back moments later, cookie in hand, and placed it in front of a down-trodden Keith with a kind smile. “You look like you need it,” Lance offered, and Keith simply shrugged, work still open. Lance couldn’t help it, he started to read it. 

Keith realised a second too late, snapping the lid down.

“Hey!” He snapped.

“Wait, no! That was good?” Lance tried prying the laptop open, despite Keith pushing the screen firmly down.

“It’s an essay? How is it any good?”

“It’s not what it’s _about_ , stupid mullet. It’s about _how_ it’s been written like - it kinda sounds like a suave Keith is speaking to me. It’s natural.” Lance winced, okay. He wasn’t as good with words as suave-Keith was in that essay, sue him.

Keith looked suspicious. “You’re saying that to make me feel better and to cover up your guilt for listening in earlier.”

“You saw me.”

Keith nodded.

“Okay, fine! But I’m being _honest,_ it’s good! He was way too harsh.” Lance hesitated, seeing Keith still give him that _look_. “Fine! Show me something _you_ think you’ve written that’s good.”

Keith hesitated, before grabbing the beaten up notepad, flicking through the pages and tossing it at Lance.

“This is what I’m working on. I gotta do a reading tomorrow. I haven’t finished it yet, but…” Keith sighed. “I don’t know, feel free to rip it to shreds?”

Lance was hooked immediately. The words seemed to reach out the page and grip Lance in an embrace, resurfacing ghosts of memories that Lance wasn’t even sure he had. Of rainy days and empty places, being lost in a crowd of condolences, of betrayal and swimming under a frozen lake, unable to surface. Lance was in awe, because the piece was so well put together - each word so carefully selected and written, nurtured to create…well, _this._ This _poem_ that didn’t really feel like just a poem, but more - something that reached out to Lance and said - _I know how you feel._

But it ended too abruptly. Lance was shocked back into reality at the sight of an empty page. He just stopped himself from continuing to turn the empty pages in search of more because that _couldn’t be it._ There had to be _more,_ but he caught himself. Remembered Keith saying it was unfinished.

And the boy who wrote those words - those _words_ \- simply sat as though he hadn’t read something that had almost brought Lance to tears. He just watched raindrops trickle down the windowpane, leaving traces like cracks in the glass. He’d curled in on himself, as though prepared for some form of blow.

And he _did_ get one. But not the one he expected.

“Keith-“ 

Lance’s voice sounded different. More quiet, more raspy. His hands trembled as he gripped tightly onto Keith’s notebook like a lifeline, watching confusion flutter over the other’s face. 

“Was it really that bad?” Keith had the nerve to mumble. 

Lance blinked, before proceeding to slap the book into Keith’s face. 

“You idiot! It’s beautiful!” Lance snapped. “I hate you! This is the first thing I’ve read that’s ever made me cry!”

“That’s really not true,” a voice muttered, and Lance shot round to see Hunk walking past, carrying disinfectant. “He still cried when he accidentally squashed an ant when we were five. And every movie night I have to make sure we have at least two boxes of tissues. Everything makes him cry-“

“Don’t you have a job?” Lance growled. 

Hunk raised both hands in surrender. Keith looked between the two, before bursting out laughing.

Lance watched him with a small smile, looking back down to the scrawled pages. He was almost reluctant to give it back, in case Keith never showed him it again.

“Hey, you really think it’s that good?” Keith asked uncertainly. 

“Yeah, I do,” Lance carefully closed the book and pushed it over to him. “I just wish it was finished, mullet!”

“Soon, maybe. Make sure I don’t procrastinate,” Keith looked despairingly back to his closed laptop. 

“Let’s take a break,” Lance closed it, leaning his head onto his folded arms. “Besides, we have a first date to plan. 

Keith sighed. “So, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Lance blew a raspberry, sitting back up and taking a sip from his cup. “You’re the amazing author here, you tell _me._ ”

“Uh,” Keith rubbed at his neck, eyes trailing back out the window. Lance was almost on the edge of his seat, hoping that Keith might come up with a story just as good - no, _better_ than what he’d already read. He was already hooked onto Keith’s way with words - could that even happen? - and he found himself desperately wanting more. 

“I guess we just went here? One day you just, uh, asked me at the station if I wanted to grab a coffee…so we did?”

And Lance remembered this wasn’t a perfect author that could speak beautiful prose without much thought. This was Keith. Awkward ol’ mullet-head. 

-

Keith and Lance had stayed at the coffee shop until the owner and her son were literally kicking them out so they could close up. No actual first date had been planned - Lance said Keith needed to think of something more interesting than just coffee, and that he wasn’t being creative at all because that was _literally_ what they were doing. So they both proceeded to make it into a competition - who could make up the most outrageous first-date. Lance won with his scene of sitting on top of a lion-shaped robot on an alien planet, watching the sunset together. 

Something told him Lance’s family wouldn’t believe that idea, though. 

He took a seat in the kitchen, opening his laptop back up, the pale screen illuminating the darkness of the apartment. Somewhere he could hear a bell jingling from where Red or Black were playing. If he closed his eyes long enough, he could even imagine the soft sound of feet thudding about in Shiro’s room as the man prepared to retire for the night. 

He opened his eyes, looking at the poem that Lance had said he’d loved - that had brought tears to his eyes, because he _understood._ Those words spoke to him too - he could hear the melancholy sound that chimed after every line. He knew how it felt to lose-

He took a deep breath, feeling the spark that had been lost for so long come back. He gripped it with both hands, and let the sound of clacking keys fill the empty apartment.

-

“You want Christmas off?” Iverson folded his arms, giving Keith a scrutinising glare. It was the end of the day after a slow service. Keith even had the time to sneak into the toilets and reply to Kolivan’s email saying his work had been submitted and that he was likely going to pass. James was still wiping tables in the corner, and had been dragging it out for the past twenty minutes. 

Keith nervously squeezed a towel between his hands, biting his lip. “Yeah.” 

He could see the frustration building in Iverson’s glare - the way a vein popped on the side of his forehead. 

“Why? You’re the only damn person that I can count on to work Christmas!” Iverson snapped. A spray of spit rained down onto Keith and he grimaced. “It’s not like you’ve got anyone to see?”

Keith’s throat tightened at that. Iverson was _still_ pissed at him taking a week off unannounced a few months ago after receiving that letter. And from his hospital visit, most likely.

“I…” Keith struggled to find a way to defend himself, already envisioning opening the damn thing up, Shiro’s name, an apology, those three letters-

“I’ll cover Keith.” James hopped down from the stage area of the restaurant, slamming the disinfectant bottle a little too aggressively onto the bar. “My parents are going on holiday this year, anyway. I’d rather not see my mother in a bikini. It’ll be nice to have an excuse to miss out on it and have the house to myself.” It was then when Keith knew James was lying - he was always complaining about his parents never being around. He narrowed his eyes at James, but James refused to meet his eye, simply glaring at Iverson.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” He asked James, turning his glare to Keith. 

Iverson grunted. “I’ll write it in the holiday diary.”

He turned on his head and walked away.

James sighed. “I’ll get Adam to switch us around if he still puts you on it.”

Keith stared at James, eyes still wide. “You don’t have to-“

“Hey, you’d do the same for me. It’s about time you had some time off,” he smiled. “I know you’ll wanna spend Christmas with Lance, and you probably wanna keep your relationship on the down-low. Iverson should respect your privacy.”

Keith gave James a smile. “Y’know, you’re not that bad.”

“Aw, thanks!” James squealed, pulling Keith into a bone crushing hug. “I love you too!”

“I take that statement back. I still hate you.”

And, later that night, when he received a text from Lance simply saying: _Sweet dreams, Mullet <3, _maybe the apartment felt a little less empty, and the weight on his shoulders became just a little easier to bare. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith does a spoken word/poetry night. They both get drunk. oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo everyone! I hope you're all staying healthy and you are all well in spite of the current state of the world right now. Hopefully this chapter will help pass the day a little quicker!
> 
> I'm hoping to get updates out a little more quickly now, considering everything is cancelled so I really don't have an excuse not to write this anymore, haha.

Keith’s boots tread softly against the carpet, the musky smell of old and worn pages filling the air. There was silence on the other side of the line for a few seconds, only the sound of the heaters whirring against the yellowing walls of the library filled the air.

There was a gasp. “You got Christmas off? That’s great!” Lance cheered a little too happily into the phone. Keith huffed, fingers tracing across the worn-out spines of various books. 

“Yeah. It took forever to convince the boss. I always work Christmas.”

“What a bastard. If you always work it, you deserve at least one year off!” Lance paused, before mumbling: “uh, but if you need to use your only opportunity to spend time off with your own family, I get it-“

“Lance,” Keith cut through. “It’s fine. You’ve already paid my rent. Let me keep up the side of the deal. Unless you’re actually gonna tell her?”

“No, I-“ Lance sighed. “I haven’t found a chance. After Christmas, okay? I promise. Then we don’t have to see each other again.”

There was a pang in Keith’s chest. “O-Oh. Well-“ He steeled himself, picking a book from the shelf. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

He distracted himself reading the back of the book while Lance rambled on and on about his mother’s various wedding plans - something about Hunk’s mother deciding to make their wedding cake, which was a _big_ problem - for Lance, anyway. 

“Hey, do you wanna meet up at some point?”

Keith hesitated, waiting for the catch. ‘To go over the details of our first date again!’ Or, “I forgot we need to create a folder of wedding plans because that’s something I’d totally do and mama will totally wanna see it.”

All there was, was a long, slow silence.

“It’s okay, sorry. That’s a stupid idea.”

“No. That sounds good,” Keith mumbled, slipping a book under his arm and continuing to walk through. “Where do you wanna meet?”

“I was gonna suggest we could grab something to eat but, uh, I know that you probably get fed up with restaurant life after a while.”

“It does kinda ruin the experience. I know _all_ the shortcuts kitchens take. Some of it is _gross_ ,” Keith commented, trailing off. “I don’t mind though. If that’s where you wanna-“

“We could hit a bar or something instead?” Lance suggested. 

Keith didn’t have the heart to say his restaurant was _also_ a bar.

“That sounds good,” he mumbled, stopping in the centre of the isle, scrutinising author names. 

“By the way, my whole family are getting you Christmas presents. I know you’re broke so I’m writing your name on my presents so you don’t have to worry about it,” Lane said the latter quickly, as though feeling himself the way Keith’s heart stopped for a few seconds. “Also, have you cashed in that cheque yet? I haven’t seen anything come out.”

Because Keith hadn’t cashed it in yet. He was _going_ to. Today. Or at least, he told himself that, anyway. And the growing stack of papers told him that, too. It was in his rucksack, weighing almost as heavily as the books he was preparing to fill it with. 

Keith’s lack of reply lead Lance to change the subject. Again. 

“How about next Thursday?” Lance asked. 

“I’m busy Thursday,” Keith mumbled. “I’ve gotta do my poetry assignment - uh, at The White Lion. There’s a spoken word night. Gotta perform for that, uh…” Keith cleared his throat. “You could come. If you like.” It wasn’t like anyone else would be able to watch him. Shiro had never gotten the chance, though he’d always wanted to watch. Every time he performed, he was out of country. “I usually perform as a regular thing - it’s only one poem this time, though, so-“

“You perform?!” Lance shrieked. “Sorry, uh, just…love poems. Pretty cu-pretty cute. The poems. Not that you perform them. Obviously. Uh-“ Lance coughed. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

Keith hesitated, frowning. “Sure? I’ll text you the details,” he muttered, beginning to walk towards the counter. “I’ve gotta go. Gotta get my library books swapped over. Uh.” Now _that_ was a lame confession.

“You use the library?” Lance asked, something soft in his tone. Keith hoped it wasn’t disgust. 

“I’ll see you Thursday,” Keith muttered, quickly cutting the line. 

-

The White Lion was a shoddy, rundown pub on the outskirts of town. It had a vibe that Lance would predominantly avoid - one that meant you’d have a bottle-rim shaped indent on your thumb from spending your entire night covering your drink, and you’d probably find at least _someone_ snorting cocaine off the sinks in the toilets. It was a _shit hole,_ quite frankly, and Lance felt uneasy as he stepped inside. 

All the elderly men crowding around the bar seemed to turn and watch him, scrutinising why he was here. Even the barmaid gave him a strange look, until-

“Lance! Hey!” Keith stepped from amidst the men and placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder. His cheeks were stretched into a wide smile, and he held a bottle of coke in his hand. “I’ll be up soon. Kolivan’s sorting out the camera - Shay just did one and it kinda ran out of charge.” Keith chuckled. “You need a drink? I’ll buy. I wouldn’t recommend listening to me read my poetry sober, at least.”

“Uh. Sure.” Lance stepped with Keith over to the bar. One of the men were already reciting off a long order to the lady behind the bar, who was pouring pints like she could do it in her sleep. 

The man turned to Keith. “You wanna drink?”

“I’m good, Thace. I can’t get drunk tonight,” Keith smiled. 

“Aw, c’mon, have one for luck! Allura, take the money for it and give him one when he’s done!” ‘Thace’ snapped his fingers. 

“you’re never gonna win, Keith,” she smiled sweetly, grabbing a bottle from the fridge and popping the cap, handing it to him. He sighed. 

“Here,” he handed it to Lance. “Kolivan will _kill_ me if I decide to get drunk.”

Lance took a swig and grimaced. “So, what are you gonna perform?” 

“One of my poems.”

“Fuck, really?!” Lance exclaimed sarcastically as Keith laughed. 

The teacher from the coffee shop appeared as someone stepped up onto the small stage in the corner. He gave Keith a thumbs up, and Keith waved Lance a quick wave. 

As soon as he steps up, the men on the bar begin to cheer and clap their hands. 

“Go Keith!” 

Keith does a mock bow, blushing in the pale lights that cause his licked-over lips to sparkle as he smiled. “Thanks, Thace. I love ya too,” he chuckled nervously, hugging his notebook close. “So, uh, this is a poem I’d written a while ago. It’s kinda emo, so sorry to be a downer on the evening but uh...” Keith looked to lance a second too long. He coughed. “Anyway. This is Dreams.” 

Lance was mesmerised by Keith’s words, how his tongue folded over them so smoothly. His voice was low and rough, quiet, as though scared that if he spoke them any louder, they’d shatter and break in his gentle hold. 

And that was the thing. Lance could tell how much love Keith held for the words he had written. How much thought and care had gone into curating the poem. A gentle hand, a fond thought. A broken heart. 

A missing family member. Grief. Ache. Yearning. 

Lance had fallen. Fallen in love with Keith’s words, Keith’s gentleness that he hadn’t seen before. He’d fallen in love with the way his shirt was creased and not ironed - still covered in loose cat hairs. How his hands were still covered with ink. He was in love with the way his hair curled over his sculpted cheekbones, cheeks still bloomed a rose pink. How he’d look to the corners of the room, obviously too nervous to look to the crowd. The way with just a few words he could bring the whole, rowdy pub to their knees, just watching, silent, enamoured by his soft voice and beautiful words. 

And in a heartbeat, it was over, and Keith was rushing his way back over to lance.

Lance opened his mouth to speak. Keith outstretched his hand, as though to embrace lance. And god, was that what he wanted right now. To sweep Keith off his feet and tell him how beautiful he was. How beautiful that poem was. How much-

Keith reaches past lance and grabs the bottle Lance had at some point forgotten, chugging it down before throwing it back down to the sticky bar with an ugly ‘smack!’ 

“Thank fuck that’s finished. I need a drink,” Keith muttered. “Kolivan thought shit like this would help get my stuff out there but all it’s done is take five years off my life.”

Lance blinked, watching Keith wave at Allura to ask for another round for him and Lance, one of the men jumping in to pay for it for him. Kolivan had congratulated Keith at some point, reminded him he still had to send the write up of the poem to him tomorrow, before he left. A few students remained dotted around, talking, none of which ever came over to speak to Keith. 

Lance wanted to speak to Keith, to say _something._ Tell him how his words enraptured him, how he…how he _understood_ Keith’s pain behind those soft syllables, saw himself in the gentle images. But all he could do was watch dumbly as Keith was bought drink after drink from the locals that clearly saw him on a daily basis, never having to spend a penny. How his words slurred and how Lance’s vision began to get fuzzy, and at some point he was trying to drag Keith off to dance, while Keith stubbornly tried to sit on the floor to stop him. How they laughed, and danced, and probably fell to the floor countless times. 

So he stayed quiet, and allowed himself to smile, to laugh, and not have the dark shadow of his mothers grief, his own, following in his wake. Rather, everything was filled with _Keith._ Keith, who swore like a sailor and who’s smile controlled Lance’s own, much like the moon did the tide. 

Lance was falling. Hard.

-

“Lance! I don’t wanna go home!” Keith leaned into Lance, sipping at his beer. They’d left the pub, to walk the freezing cold streets. Keith had stolen a glass, not wanting to waste his drink, apparently.

“Keith, you’ve got to go home! You sleep there!” Lance dragged him along the abandoned streets of the town, his own mind muddled from the alcohol. Was he going the right way? Where did Keith live, again?

“No,” Keith shook his head, pouting so adorably.

“But that makes no sense!” Lance exclaimed all too loudly, flailing his arms about. Keith lost his balance and fell onto the floor. Lance sat down next to him. One look at each other, and they both burst into laughter. 

“Why are we sitting on the floor?” Lance asked.

“I don’t want to sleep in my bed.” Keith folded his arms. “I don’t wanna go _home._ ”

“But _why?_ ” Lance asked. “Everyone wants to go home?”

Keith shook his head. “It’s lonely. Shiro’s not there anymore. Wanna stay with you.”

“But it’s fake!” Lance snapped all too quickly, cheeks flushing. 

Keith blinked, looking genuinely concerned. “Your house is fake?”

-

Lance finally arrived home. Somehow. His head was beginning to pound, everything swimming so calmly in his vision. He somehow unlocked his door, beginning to step inside when a hand grabbed his shoulder. 

“You left your friend outside.” A thumb gestured to where Keith sat in the hall, Lance’s jacket wrapped around his shoulders, staring at his beer glass as though it held the answers to life itself. “Please keep the noise down. I have to work early tomorrow.”

Lance managed to find the mental capacity to apologise, grabbing Keith and dragging him inside. Keith wouldn’t stop laughing because he thought the neighbours bright orange moustache was funny. 

-

Keith was going to _kill_ whoever let him drink that much. He was sore, aching, and-

And someone was sleeping beside him. They weren’t cuddling. Weren’t naked - _thank god._ Just laying there, back to back. Keith was in his clothes from last night still. He stank of sweat and alcohol and -god, did someone really allow him to sleep here in this state?

He needed a shower. Stat. And a lucky escape from whoever _that_ is. Did he try and pick someone up again? Why was he so _stupid_?

Keith sat up slowly, clutching his head. He hesitated, before slowly looking down to the person beside him. 

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved, or to panic at the sight of Lance lying next to him, drooling onto the pillow he was cuddling close to his chest. He too still had the clothes Keith vaguely remembered him to be wearing last night. 

Slowly, so as not to aggravate his headache any more than he had to, Keith got to his feet, and crept to the door. On the way, he spotted a small desk, where Lance’s blue train uniform hung, and his cap sat on top of a small pile of books. Just next to it was a picture frame of Lance, and what looked to be just an older, taller version of him. 

Keith smiled sadly, looking back to Lance, before sneaking out the room. 

As he passed into the hall, he could smell something cooking - the sizzle of the pan and the low hum of the radio. _Crap,_ Keith had thought, _he lives with someone._

And that someone must’ve had superhuman hearing and heard Keith click the door shut behind him, because soon a head was poking round a doorway. 

Hunk. It was Hunk.

“Hey, Lance, I cooked you break- KEITH?!”

“Uh,” Keith smiled and waved, trying to act like he definitely _wasn’t_ trying to escape unseen because what kind of fiancé would do that? “Hey, Hunk.”

“Why are you here?”

“Lance invited me round.”

“Overnight?” Hunk raised an eyebrow, incredibly suspicious.

Keith flushed, even though he was 89% sure _nothing_ happened, and it _really_ seemed like that right now. “Yeah.”

Hunk frowned, incredibly confused. “Well…I’ve made breakfast. You’re welcome to join us.”

Keith _really_ wanted to go home. But in order to keep up the whole ‘fiancé’ fiasco, he had to agree. 

Lance owed him for this. He nodded, and followed Hunk back into the kitchen. Hunk was still stirring things in pans, looking like he was cooking a feast for a party rather than just him and Lance. Keith watched, wearily, taking a seat at their small table. There was an awkwardness between them, a tension that Keith couldn’t quite work out how to break. 

“So where did you guys get off to last night?” Hunk started, rummaging in the cupboards, not sparing a moment to glance in Keith’s direction.

“Down at the White Lion - I had a poetry reading to do their for one of their events,” Keith mumbled. “I invited Lance to come and we might’ve gotten a bit drunk.” 

“A bit?” Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Man, I heard Lance almost break something at like 4AM. I had no idea you were with him though…” Hunk trailed off. “Why _are_ you here?” 

Something uneasy settled in Keith’s stomach. “What do you mean?” He asked, trying his best to act natural. “I can visit my fiancé, can’t I?” It ended up more like a genuine question. Keith flinched. 

“Oh - OH!” Hunk ran a hand through his hair. “I know the whole relationship thing is fake, dude. I can’t believe Lance didn’t tell you that I know.”

Keith froze. “What?”

“I know it’s fake - I _tried_ talking him out of it, by the way. He’s stubborn, though. Well, I’m sure you’ve gathered that by now-“

“Wait - he can tell _you_ but not his own mother?”

“He tells me everything,” Hunk shrugged. “Our mom’s are best friends, so we’ve known each other since we were born, basically.” Hunk shrugged. “Anything he can’t talk to his own family about always comes round to me - and used to come round to my mom, too.”

And Keith understood that, kind of. Shiro used to do that, too - even back when Keith was in care and Shiro still lived with his parents. Keith never understood it, because how would he know how to deal with family drama when he’s never had one? But, he’d listen, and try his best, because he hated to see Shiro upset. 

“Oh, I-“ Keith wasn’t sure what to say, chewing at his lip. “Well-“

“Lance is a good guy, I promise, he’ll tell his mom,” Hunk reassured, as though Keith would think Lance was anything _but_ a good person. “It’s just, he was _so_ close to his dad. Like - when we were at school, and we’d have to draw superheroes, people would draw batman, Spiderman, all those…and Lance would draw his dad.” Hunk’s tone became soft, quiet, as though worried Lance would hear. “The guy was his hero, so when he died that…that fucked him up, _bad._ He…I think he’s using this as a distraction just as much as his mother is,” Hunk sighed. “It’s unhealthy, I keep telling him that but he’s in denial.” 

Keith blinked, looked to Hunk, who’s face had become burdened with thick lines of worry. And maybe he should be angry about that revelation, maybe he should simply pull the plug on the whole thing, before it _does_ get out of hand, and unhealthy like Hunk was saying, but-

But maybe it was becoming a distraction for Keith, too. 

“I’ve, uh, I’ve got to go,” Keith shot back to his feet, hearing Lance shuffle about in his bedroom. “Sorry, I-my cats-“ He searched his mind for an excuse, while Hunk watched him, dumbfounded. “My cats need feeding. And letting out. Tell Lance I’ll call him. Uh, thanks for breakfast anyway-“ 

Keith shot out the room, out the apartment, before Hunk had a chance to try and convince him to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think after this chapter we will finally reach the part where Keith and Lance stay at the McClains! Don't hold me to it, though - I'm reaching the part of the story I haven't planned as thoroughly as the rest of it, haha.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith meets the McClains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya'll are ready for the McClain's wholesome family life. (And a teeny bit of angst, because I can't help myself????)
> 
> I hope everyone is well! Stay safe! I hope this chapter brings a smile to all of your faces - I tried to make it as warm as possible.
> 
> These can be lonely times. I always keep my tumblr linked at the bottom - feel free to message me (even if we're strangers) for a chat about anything! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. <3

Keith dreamed of an easier time. A time when his university application was the only thing at the forefront of his mind, rent and utilities not even a question. A time when Shiro wasn’t called out so often, and when he did, he wrote letters back. Of Summer evenings, the condensation sweating off his glass like small glistening gems as he watched Shiro throw bread to ducks. Of having that company, that _support system._ Having someone to cheer him on when they did those morning jogs - absolute _killers_ planned by Shiro because he _hated_ Keith being able to live without muscle pain, apparently. Of having someone to celebrate birthdays, Christmas’s with. 

He missed having a brother. 

And maybe, in the middle of the night, he woke from that dream, and wrote, frantically, a letter. Then stowed it away in the draw, slowly growing overfilled with scraps of paper, knowing that it could never be sent. 

-

Keith was roused by the long, annoying buzzes coming from his phone. It buzzed, and buzzed, and-

_Thump._

Keith got a few seconds respite before it began to hum again. It was enough to wake his cats and send them into a flurry of pawing at his back, mewling for their breakfast. He groaned. 

Guess it was time to wake up, then.

As soon as he sat up, Black and Red both shot off to the kitchen - little furry blurs disappearing round the corner. Keith grappled for his phone on the floor, pushing strewn clothes and screwed up fragments of his journal aside to finally find it. 

It was Lance. 

“What?” Keith grumbled, voice hoarse with sleep. There was a moments hesitation, before:

“Dude, I’m outside. Have you literally only just woken up?!”

“No? I’ve been awake for ages waiting for your annoying ass to get here.”

“Huh. Why didn’t you answer the phone?”

“Taking a piss.”

“I can’t believe you call yourself a poet when _that_ comes out your mouth like it’s nothing.”

“Speaking and writing are different things,” Keith muttered, plucking at a loose thread in his bedsheets. Red had been kneading them, again, it seemed. “Writing is good. Speaking, not good.”

Lance’s warm laughter filtered through the speaker. “Got it. So…are you gonna get out here, or are you gonna keep a gorgeous guy waiting?”

Keith froze, eyes trailing to the clock set on his nightstand. _Shit._

“There’s a hot guy outside? You _must_ get pictures for me,” Keith drawled, getting to his feet and scanning the room for easy-access clothes. “I’ll be out in a second - if _someone_ would actually stop talking and distracting me.”

“Okay.” Keith wasn’t sure what Lance was responding to, only that he’d abruptly hung up on him and that he needed to get ready _fast._ That, and Black and Red had began yowling for their breakfast. 

Keith hadn’t even put a shirt over his head when a message came through. It was a picture of Lance, tongue stuck out, brow creased and eyes squinted against the sunlight cast over his face. He was throwing a peace sign to the camera. 

‘Got a photo of the hot guy for ya! ;)’

And if Keith saved that photo? Well, no one had to know.

-

Keith knew where Lance’s car was without even having to look up. He could hear it - the obnoxiously loud brass section from _Crazy In Love_ filtered through the carpark. 

The shiny, ‘way too expensive for a uni student’ car was a bright blue, almost as loud a colour as the music pounding from it. It was haphazardly parked across two spaces. Keith wondered if Lance actually had a license or if he was about to die today. 

As he drew closer, he realised that Beyonce seemed to have a backing singer. An off-key, off-beat, very ‘Lance’ sounding backup singer. 

And there he was, sunglasses on despite being in the middle of December, swaying his hips in his seat and whipping his invisible long locks of hair back and forth, screaming the lyrics at the top of his voice. 

It was going to be a _long_ journey. 

It took two knocks from Keith - _two -_ before Lance spotted him. 

He pulled down the window, the music growing even louder. “Put it in the back, buckaroo.”

“You know what? I think I’d rather walk.”

“And what kind of fiance would I be if I let you do that, hm?” Lance tilted his sunglasses and winked at Keith.

Without saying a word, Keith rushed to throw his bag in the boot of the car, hoping the winter wind would cool down his overheated cheeks. 

Keith took a seat in the car. Lance started up the engine, and with a screech he reversed quickly and swung himself out of the car park. 

Was Lance this bad at driving when Keith had been driven from the hospital? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that right now? He was gripping onto the seatbelt like a lifeline. 

“Keith? I need to ask you something,” Lance asked, tone going deathly serious. Serious enough to turn down the music. 

Keith swallowed, turning to look at Lance. “Uh, okay?” He missed the small twitch at the corner of Lance’s lips. 

“Beyonce, or Mariah?”

-

Being in a car with Lance was absolute hell, yet an absolute blessing at the very same time. Keith loved the way Blue, as Lance called his car, was so personalised and so _Lance._ With the small fluffy shark strapped to the rear-view mirror, clanking against the small candle-shaped air freshener. The fact that it was spotlessly clean and well cared for, unlike Shiro’s car, which had so much clutter it took Keith _hours_ to clean it out before he’d sold it. 

Not that he’d _wanted_ to sell Shiro’s car - or even had any right to. The clutter and used coffee cups, the receipts (one of which was for Keith’s birthday present shortly before he got sent out - a red leather journal, the one he keeps on his desk, unused, still in the plastic packaging), all made the whole process harder. Because it looked ‘lived in’. Like Shiro was going to return any moment. 

Lance’s car was lived in through all of it’s knick-knacks. Through the small letters stuffed in the car door holders. The worn textbooks stuffed in the back of the car seats. The smell of that air freshener - a cheap smelling ‘sea breeze’. 

The driver of said car, however, was annoying as hell. Especially when he attempted the high notes in ‘All I Want For Christmas’ for the third time that hour. 

“Nailed it!” He shrieked, jumping up and down in the car seat. Keith was ready to pull the steering wheel and cart them off the highway. 

(He didn’t.)

-

Keith takes a deep breath, following Lance up the gravel pathway and to the door, remnants of the voices of various pop divas still ringing in his ears. There are decorations covering the house, carefully placed to make the building look warm, and inviting, and Keith’s measly apartment block in comparison look more like a prison. The wreath on the door is still coated in a thin layer of dust, and a few spots of glue dot over the leaves from where the small decorations had fallen off. 

Lance smiled. “I haven’t seen these decorations up for ages. I think Mama’s trying to impress you.”

Not five seconds after Lance knocks, the door pulls open. Keith frowns, seeing no one behind it, until there’s a scream: 

“UNCLE LANCE!”

Keith looked down. A small child clung to Lance’s leg, reindeer antlers haphazardly perched on her head. She has flour all over her clothes, and cake batter smeared on her cheeks. 

“Hey Nadia! Are you helping bake Mama’s famous Christmas cake?” 

“She let me mix it!” Nadia hopped up the hall, reindeer antlers almost falling off her head in all her excitement. “Uncle Lance! Look at all the presents under the tree!” She grabbed Lance’s arm and tugged him inside. Lance grabbed Keith before he could be left behind. 

Sat in the lounge were the two women that Keith vaguely recognised from the hospital, and two men who vaguely looked like Lance. “Wow, that is a lot of presents. What makes you think they’re yours though, huh?” 

“They say my name!”

“Nah, I think they say Lance,” he smirked. “Now go help Mama finish that cake! She probably needs you to lick the spoon - it’s the most important step!”

Nadia raced off, presumably to the kitchen. The smell of sweet spices and butter and sugar and _warmth_ begins to filter through the home. 

“Now she’s going to have a sugar rush, Lance,” one f the men, trying to organise presents out of a unicorn-printed rucksack, huffed. “Who’s the unlucky guy, then?”

“This is Kieth!” Lance hugged Keith close, interlocking their hands. “And he is _very_ lucky, I’ll have you know.”

Rachel snorted and climbed over Veronica on the couch to grab a chocolate from a bowl set on the coffee table. Lance pulled the bowl away quickly. “Hey! He is! Aren’t you?”

“Uh-“ Keith blinked. “I think so?”

The other siblings laughed. 

“Blink twice if you need help, Keith,” Veronica said, stifling laughter. 

“Anyway!” Lance cut through their laughter, glaring at his siblings. “Keith, meet Luis and Marco. They’re both idiots and I hate them.”

“Watch your mouth McClain, or we’er coming in your room with a bucket of warm water tonight.”

Lance put his middle finger up at Luis. 

“Wait! What about us?” Rachel had the same, blaze theatrics as Lance. 

“He knows you guys already,” Lance rolled his eyes. “You were at the hospital? Remember?”

“Oh yeah-“

“Uncle Lance!!” Nadia tore round the corner, interrupting the conversation, holding a wooden spoon, seemingly clean from all cake batter. She chewed on it anyway. “Me and Papa are staying at a _hotel_! It’s so fancy they have a breakfast where you can eat CHOCOLATE!” 

“Wow, that sounds great, Nadia!” Lance ruffled her hair. She spotted Keith, taking place behind Lance’s leg, still chewing on the spoon. 

“Who’s that?”

“This is Keith.”

“Hi, Keith.”

Keith gave her a small wave, watching Lance finally try and pry the spoon away from her. 

“You know what Keith does for a living, Nadia?” He asked, kneeling down beside her. 

“No?” She eyed Keith wearily. 

“He is a _wizard,_ ” Lance told her, voice a whisper as though he was telling her a great secret. “He can imagine up whole new worlds, and he can paint pictures in your _mind_!” 

“Wow!” She gasped, still staring at Keith. 

“I know! He can teleport you anywhere you want. All with just his notebook.”

Nadia looked to Keith with a form of respect. She puffed out her chest and held out a sticky hand. Keith shook it. 

“I want to go to the moon. Can you take me?”

“Uh,” Keith saw five pairs of eyes watching him. “Yeah. I can do that. Why there?”

“Because that’s where my grandpa lives! Uncle Lance said he got a new job - he paints the stars, now!”

Keith looked to Lance, who offered a small smile. 

“Oh, well I’m sure I can take you there. How does tomorrow sound?”

She mulled it over as though she had a schedule that isn’t simply playing with her toys. 

“After lunch?”

“After lunch.”

They shook on it. She waddled to her papa, Marco, who smiled at Keith. Keith found himself relaxing a little, and from the small squeeze of his hand - did they really never let go? - Keith knew that the McClain’s, so far, approved. 

-

Dinner was…difficult for Keith. Everyone seemed to have their part to play; even Nadia, who was putting down placemats onto the table, all with different prints, studying them carefully and deciding who got what farm animal. She saved the chickens for herself, claiming they were her sixth favourite animal. She’d given Keith the sheepdog. As Lance rushed past with wooden bowls of vegetables and rice, organising them onto the table carefully, he noticed the placemat and claimed she’d given it to him because both him and the rugged looking thing had the same hairstyle.

The rest of the McClain’s worked like a well oiled machine, each having their part to play. Marco helped dish everything into bowls with Rosa, who was finishing the final touches to the food; Veronica poured drinks; Marco set cutlery (and tried to get Nadia to hurry up with choosing what animal went where) and Rachel put spoons into each dish Lance set down. 

Keith? Keith stood in the center of it all, constantly getting into people’s way. In the end, he stood by the doorway, like an onlooker. His stomach was heavy, all hunger from the delicious smells that had since ceased, and he wondered if it was too late to run. 

That was, until Lance spotted him looking incredibly awkward and whispered something to Nadia. 

Nadia handed Lance the placemats, saluted him, and rushed over to Keith. 

“Keef! Come sit next to me!” She tugged him over to a chair with a very fluffy pink pillow set on it. Nadia climbs up to take a seat - despite the booster, she still hardly came up to the table properly. Rather than wine like all the adults, Veronica had poured her a small glass of orange juice (though, it was in a plastic wine glass, which seemed to delight her). “Grandma’s cooking is so much better than dad’s, you’re gonna love it!” 

“If it tastes anything like it smells, it’s gonna be a winner,” Keith snuck Lance a small smile. 

Eventually, most of the family were seated, save for Lance, who was trying to get Rosa to _stop fussing_ over condiments and extra spoons and _sit down._

“So,” Rachel slumped into a seat besides Keith, wasting n time in stacking her plate high with food. “Why Lance, of all people?”

“Rachel!” Lance snapped, finally taking a seat with Rosa. “Someone’s just jealous she’s single.” He huffed, folding his arms while Rosa started to fill his plate, muttering under her breath that he wasn’t eating enough because he was getting ‘scrawny’. 

“I’m not jealous!” Rachel snapped back. “I’m curious! Seriously, Keith, why Lance?”

“I ask myself the same question,” Keith joked, if only to give himself some time to think of what they’d rehearsed, but his mind had gone blank. “I think…” Keith mumbled after the laughter ceased - or had it ceased when he’d spoke? He thumbed his glass, watching the rouge liquid ripple as he lifted it. “I _don’t_ think he realises how amazing it is to be able to make someone smile and laugh, no matter how heavy their weight is. How he makes you feel less alone, less frightened of the world.” Keith’s voice grew softer, quieter. “He makes it so easy to be happy.”

There was a long space of silence, before Nadia started to babble to Louis about dragons, and chatter slowly, but surely, resumed. 

But Lance? Lance wouldn’t take his eyes off of Keith, disbelief tugging at his flushed features. 

It was such a shame Keith missed it - completely unable to meet anyone’s eyes as he pushed his food about his plate. 

-

After dinner, Nadia had convinced them all to play a game of charades. Lance and Rachel were so competitive, they’d ended up wrestling on the floor, and Nadia had taken the crown if just to get the two to ‘shut the hell up’ Louis had put it. They’d let Keith take part, but he didn’t know their rules, as a family who had played the same game for decades, who had personalised it to fit themselves. That, and Keith was a terrible actor, terrible liar…but it didn’t matter. He enjoyed just watching them all, so carefree, so happy… He caught himself wondering if this was how it had always been, or if even a year ago, he’d have seen something completely different. 

When Nadia had started falling asleep, Marco had taken his leave back to the hotel, prompting Rachel to grab her car keys and Luis to do the same. 

Keith wasn’t really taking in whatever film Veronica had flicked on, barely registered Lance was talking to him from where he sat, cross legged on the ground by Keith’s feet, until he nudged him on the leg. 

“Let me show you my room.”

“Sure.” Keith stretched, got to his feet, stifling a yawn. The house was too warm - or maybe he was just used to being on such a tight budget, that he sometimes wore his coat indoors. 

“We’re going to bed. Night, Mama, Veronica.” Lance gives Rosa a kiss on the cheek, goes to do the same to Veronica, but instead licks her, causing her to throw a cushion at him, claim she’d get him back tomorrow. 

He then took Keith’s hand, grabbed their bags, and lead him up the stairs.

Lance’s room was…exactly what he’d expected. It was a typical room he’d see in those comedy movies, where the family were a close-knit unit of love, and kindness, and…

And everything Keith _didn’t_ have growing up. 

There was a beaten up guitar in the corner, strings sticking out from the pegs like some goofy haircut. One string was missing and it was _covered_ in dog-eared, wrinkled stickers. It looked like Lance had pasted whatever he could find on it; Keith was sure there were a few _fruit_ stickers on it. His walls were a pale blue, though the colour could hardly be seen behind the amount of posters stuck into the walls. Of supernovas, of models and pop-stars, a shrine dedicated to Beyonce, a framed disk claiming to be one of her albums. Above his bed, which still had a starry bedsheet on it (tucked in and made - Rosa’s doing, Keith assumed), was a large bisexual pride flag. 

“Hunk and I snuck out to pride when we were fourteen,” lance explained. “My family didn’t know about it. Hunk bought me the flag and hid it under my bed, for when I finally came out to my family, but I was too nervous.” He smoothed out the creases with his hand, gently. “My dad found it when he was cleaning out my room a year or so later - I was stressed with exams so he thought he’d clean it so I have a little less to stress about. He found it. When I came home, it was put up.” Lance lowered his head. “He’d said that I shouldn’t hide it away or be ashamed of it. That I should display it for the world to see, because it’s who I am, it’s _me_ and I should be proud of that - of _me._ ”

Lance wiped his eyes, smiled. “Anyway, I think Mama has dusted the place down. I definitely don’t remember leaving it this clean when I last visited. Which is…good. She likes to clean when she’s happy. She has her own little disco. It’s hilarious, you should see it.”

Keith set his bag down besides Lance’s. “I hope I do. Your family are…” Keith ignored the tightness in his chest. “Lovely, Lance.”

“You think so?” Lance smiled. “I always worry they’re a bit too much, but I love them for it.”

-

Keith sat at Lance’s rickety desk, writing in his journal. Lance flicked through one of his magazines idly, hearing the rest of his family begin to turn in for the night. 

What Keith had said at dinner, earlier, had been running through his mind. Did Keith really feel that way? Or was that just the poet speaking - did he make up a story? A fragmented piece to impress his family, so they’d stop questioning them? 

“Lance,” Keith’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “If you don’t mind me asking, what did your father look like?” He asked, leaning back in his chair and chewing the end of his pen. 

“Why?” Lance raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m writing that story for Nadia.”

“You don’t have to do that. She’ll have forgotten it by tomorrow.” Lance waved his hand, laughing. “I feel so sorry for Marco. She’s not gonna sleep at _all_ tonight, let alone tomorrow night! She’s already worried ‘santa’ doesn’t know where she is for Christmas, even though she’s rung up and told him.”

“How did that work?”

“Before I came to get you, I rang Marco up, pretending to be father Christmas.” Lance sat up straight, putting a hand on his belly, feigning a deep voice. “Ho, ho, Keith! You’ve been a very _bad_ boy this Christmas. I’m going to give you coal!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith shook his head, laughing. “And she fell for it?”

“Hey, kids will believe _anything._ Their imagination is insane. Honestly, though, Keith, don’t worry about going to all that effort. I promise she won’t mind if you ‘forget’. I’ll make an excuse for you.”

“It’s fine, Lance. I want to do it,” Keith huffed. “I’ve had so many adults make false promises to me - kids _do_ notice.”

Lance frowned. “Okay, here.” He takes over a picture frame. “Ignore the outfit. It was halloween and I was going through a shark-phase.”

Keith looked at the small Lance, dressed as a shark, face painted blue to match the colour of the costume. 

“A _shark-phase_?”

“My dad took me to an aquarium. There was a shark. Which was _really_ bad, thinking about it now, but back then, I thought it was awesome. I asked Santa for a pet shark that year. Got a goldfish called ‘shark’ instead.”

Keith sniggered, taking the photo. “Do your friends know about this?”

“Don’t you _dare,_ Kogane!”

**-**

Lance had tried to stay awake with Keith, but he was working way into the night, moving whatever he’d written in his journal onto his laptop, typing as quickly (and quietly) as he could manage. Lance was sure he could see the first peaks of sunlight coming through the curtains when Keith finally clambered into bed, huddled up as far on the other end as he could. 

“All finished?” Lance mumbled, still in-between the throes of consciousness and sleep. 

“Yeah. You have a printer?” Keith mumbled as he settled. 

“I’ll show you it in the morning.” Despite being at opposite ends of the bed, Lance could still feel the warmth radiating off of Keith. “G’night, Keith.”

“Night, Lance.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith reads Nadia the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only I could be writing a fic set at Christmas when it's almost summer. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> Oh! And I just need to say - I'm changing the rating of this fic back down to teen, and if you haven't noticed already, I've taken off the 'eventual smut' tag. I revised and did a really detailed outline of the rest of this fic earlier this week and it no longer fits in with the plot. I'm not really one to write smut for the sake of it (or pretty much at all, really?). I mean, no disrespect to the wonderful smut writers out there! They're awesome, but as someone who is awkward writing it, I'd rather not unless it was necessary for the plot. Which it no longer is. So it's not happening anymore. I'm sorry if that's disappointed anyone!! I just wanted to clear it up in case someone noticed the rating has gone down from explicit to teen all of a sudden, aha! 
> 
> Thanks for all the support this story gets - honestly, all your comments give me life :')

Lance woke on the floor, tangled in a bunch of covers. He groaned and stretched, wincing as a tugging pain in his back made itself known. 

It was still the very early hours of the morning; the room bathed in a red glow as the light from the sunrise seeped through his curtains. Outside, birds chirp and there’s a distant hum of a lawn mower. Murmurs of two men talking outside drift in through the window, mingling with the soft snores coming from the bed. 

Keith was still asleep, and most likely the cause of Lance’s…strange sleeping position. Keith’s foot was hanging over the edge (still encased in a red sock, the heathen). 

_So much for sleeping on opposite sides and keeping to ourselves,_ Lance thought, getting to his feet. He threw the blanket over Keith, deciding to leave him to sleep while he investigated the sound of the kettle beginning to hiss downstairs. 

As a child, the house was never this quiet or peaceful in the morning. He would always hear the distant sound of his father singing in the shower, or Marco and Luis arguing over who gets to play the red car for their electric race car set. Of the _thud, thud, thud_ from Rachel practising her dance routine - to no music, because Lance had broken her stereo a month after she’d been given it during a dance battle. (She never let him forget, even now.)

The peace was nice, Lance decided, but it made it all the more obvious that something was _missing._

In the kitchen, he found his mother, humming quietly to the radio as she spooned coffee into a mug. Lance stood and watched her, a smile tugging on his lips as she swayed her hips to the music. There was a shine and spot of colour to her face - a morning glow that one could only get when they were well rested. 

Lance was glad that she was finally sleeping okay. 

She struggled to reach the sugar from the top shelf, muttering under her breath, “dammit, I hate living in a house of tall people.” 

“Need help?” Lance stifled laughter, reaching for it and handing it to her. 

“Ah, Lance. Thank you! Did I wake you and Keith?”

“I don’t think _anything_ could tear Keith away from his sleep.” Lance leant back against the kitchen counter. “And you know me, I’m an early riser!” 

Rosa raised an eyebrow. “Do you not remember how your father had to hammer a spoon against our poor frying pans to wake you up every morning?”

“Nope. Don’t remember. Didn’t happen.” Lance shook his head.

Rosa tutted, a smile tugging at her lips. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

An eyebrow raised, and a hand fell onto a hip. 

“Yes please, Mama.”

She took the kettle and poured his coffee. He sipped it whilst she added sugar to her own. 

“I like Keith,” she started, a smile tugging at her lips. “He seems like a nice boy. He treats you well.”

“He does,” Lance smiled. Rosa let out a small sigh. 

“But…He seems…sad,” she said slowly. “He’s hurting. I know it’s not my place, but please let him know that if he needs anything, I’m here for him. He’s a part of our family, now. Make sure he knows it.”

Lance noticed Keith had been a little down since he’d arrived here, too. But he hadn’t questioned it; he’d decided it wasn’t his place. He was surprised his mother had noticed. 

“Your father would have loved him,” Rosa added as a quiet afterthought. Before Lance could reply, the doorbell chimed. It chimed again, and again, and-

“-I’ve got a key!” A voice hissed. “You don’t need to ring the doorbell. Now, be quiet, people might still be-“

“MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE!” Nadia screamed. Lance was sure it woke the whole street. “MERRY-“ Nadia’s voice became muffled.

“What did I just say, Nadia?! You need to listen to me or else you might not get any presents tomorrow!” Marco quietly scolded. Rosa laughed, though stopped Lance from going to greet them. 

“It’s going to make her even more excited. You are her favourite uncle, after all.”

A smile crept onto Lance’s face. “I’m telling Luis you said that.”

“Said what? I don’t remember.” Rosa returned the smile and winked. 

“UNCLE LANCE!” Something flung itself into Lance’s side, almost knocking him off his feet.

“Nadia! Careful-I could’ve spilt coffee on you!” He scolded as he hugged her back. 

“She’s yours now,” Marco slumped against the doorframe, stifling a yawn. Dark circles surrounded his eyes and he still had a morning stubble. “Someone wouldn’t sleep last night. She was way too excited.”

“At least she hasn’t made herself sick, yet. Lance got so excited one Christmas he threw up on me.”

“I’m pretty sure it was actually because we were playing spaceships.”

“What’s that?” Nadia asked.

“I’ll play it with you later. You’re gonna love it.”

“You drop her and you’re dead, Lance. Having to put up with you when you were dropped as a kid is bad enough.”

Lance gasped as Nadia squealed with laughter, despite not understanding the joke at all. “Mama! Marco’s bullying me!”

“You’re both terrors,” she shook her head. “Why don’t you take Keith some coffee, Lance? I’m starting breakfast soon. Make sure you give Veronica’s door a nudge on your way.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Lance saluted as she poured another coffee. 

“How does he like it?” 

Shit. How _does_ he like it?

“Uh…Milk…One sugar?” Lance guessed, trying to sound as confident as possible. 

“There. Don’t be long. I’d like to see my son in law at _some_ point, okay?”

“He’s still asleep? Jealous,” Marco rushed forward and steered Nadia away from trying to tip the fruit bowl on the counter all over herself. He lifted her up with a sigh. 

“You can always take a nap here, Marco. Lance and Keith can keep an eye on Nadia.”

“Yeah, we can do that,” Lance nodded, remembering Keith still had the book to give to her.

“I take back what I said about you being dropped when you were a kid.”

“Uh…Thanks?”

-

Keith was awake when Lance had gone back upstairs. He was writing frantically in his journal, seemingly unaware of the world around him. 

Lance gave a knock against the doorframe. Keith jolted and snapped his journal shut. He looked almost as bad as Marco - bleary eyed, ruffled hair, incredibly pale.

“Mama made you coffee.” Lance stepped inside. Keith took the mug, smiling and sipping from it, shortly followed by a grimace. 

“Sorry.” Lance winced, watching Keith slowly set it on the side.

“No - its okay. Thank you. Uh, do you need me to go down? Sorry, I was going to, but…” Keith sighed. “Just needed time to think, y’know?”

“I get it. We can all be pretty intense, especially if you’re used to living alone.”

Keith only hummed, clicking his pen. 

“Are you okay?” Lance placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Yeah. Yeah, don’t worry.” Keith gave a nod. There was a shriek from downstairs. 

“Oh. Marco and Nadia are here. We’re on babysitting duty while he tries to get some sleep.”

Keith gave a nod. “Hey, uh, I’ve set my laptop up - you can, uh, it’s ready to print, whenever.”

“Oh! I’ll do that now. Are you okay to go down and sit with Nadia? Just so Marco can stop bitching about how tired he is?”

“Sure.” Keith reached for his laptop and handed it over to Lance. He seemed deep in thought for a moment, chewing on his lip, before finally: “Uh, Lance?” 

Another hesitation. Lance waited.

“Are-are you gonna tell your family, after this? About us?”

Lance paused, gritting his teeth together as Keith quickly turned to gaze out the window, still chewing on his lip. 

“Yeah. I am. Don’t worry-“ He should have stopped there, but he was nervous, and his mouth ran away from him. “-It’s almost over, we don’t have to talk to each other after this.”

That didn’t seem to be what Keith wanted to hear. He seemed to curl in on himself, hiding behind his journal. 

“Okay.” Was all he said. 

Lance left the room quickly, wondering why after stating that had left his chest so…heavy.

-

Keith hadn’t gotten out of bed since Lance had left. He’d hardly slept last night. When he finally managed to drift to sleep, he’d dreamt of running - in the dark, not being able to see, hearing _Shiro_ but not being able to find him. He’d woken with a gasp, paced the room and tried not to wake Lance, who had ended up on the floor…somehow… He’d taken a moment to drape the covers over him, knowing that sleep wasn’t going to come easily for him anymore. 

He’d spent the rest of the night trying anyway, only to toss and turn. The sun had only just began to rise when he’d managed to drift off into sleep, only to wake at the feeling of covers being thrown over him and Lance clicking the door quietly shut as he left the room. 

He’d done what he usually did, after a rough night, and opened his journal, and wrote to Shiro. 

He’d managed to order his thoughts, trying to work through what had been plaguing his mind. 

Being here was nice, or at least, to an extent. He thought spending Christmas with a large family would make him feel less alone. But really, it just reminded him of how _alone_ he actually was, and how much he missed Shiro. How he wished they could have just said _goodbye._

Going back to an empty apartment, with _no one_ was going to be hard, after spending so much time in company. 

A soft knock on the door disturbed him of his thoughts. He wondered distantly if Lance had finished printing things out - but would he really knock? For his own room? 

Rosa slowly peeked her head around the door, smiling. “Oh. Did Lance not wake you? He said he was going to.”

“He did,” Keith forced a smile, gesturing to the coffee that had since cooled. “I’ll be down soon. Sorry - just college stuff,” he lied through his teeth, grabbing his journal, which had been tossed to the side, torn pieces of paper falling from it. He quickly picked them up, not wanting her to see. 

She gave him a sad smile. “Are you okay, Keith?” She sat on the bed, hands folded in her lap. “I noticed you seem a little down. It’s not my place, but I wanted you to know that we’re all here. You’re a part of our family, now. You’re my son-in-law, after all.”

Keith felt a piercing pain in his chest. He felt as though all breath had been stolen from him. Because he wasn’t a part of their family. He was an imposter. This - this whole thing was _fake_ , any connections he’d built - no matter ow much he craved to be a part of something, no matter how much he realised he actually _liked_ Lance, this was _fake._ Lance had just said, as soon as Christmas is over, they won’t have to speak to each other again. 

Keith will be useless once the truth comes out. And what will everyone think of him then?

A hand placed itself on Keith’s knee. “Breakfast will be ready in half an hour. Don’t feel pressured to come down with all of us if you don’t want to. I know it must be strange,” she smiled, understanding (but not quite understanding), before leaving the room, leaving Keith alone. 

Until, Nadia burst through the door, dragging a large glittery rucksack behind her, overflowing with toys. 

“Uncle Keith!” She jumped onto the bed, crawling over to him. “I want to show you my toys.”

Keith managed a small, shaky smile and gave a nod as she began to tip everything onto Lance’s bed, babbling about each one.

-

Lance opened up Keith’s laptop. Immediately, the document flashed up. Keith obviously didn’t want him searching around for it, just wanted him to hit print and be over with it, but-

Lance shook his head. No matter how curious he was about Keith, he wasn’t going to pry. He scrolled idly through the pages, until he got to the part where Nadia arrived at the moon. He read - _he was likely going to read it aloud to Nadia anyway, right? -_ about his father, who lived on the moon, in an abandoned rocket ship that was described as his castle. It sounded as though Keith had _known_ his father. He didn’t realise Keith would _remember_ all the small quirks about his father he’d told him, let alone _use_ it to create a character. 

His appearance was described perfectly - his mannerisms, the way he treated Nadia, made him feel like he was there, with his father again. 

And at the end, when Nadia hugged him goodbye, and went to her ship, Lance almost felt that warm embrace around himself. 

He printed it while wiping tears from his face, saved the document and closed it so he could turn the computer off. As he did, he noticed a single photo on the dash. He opened it up - curious - and a photo flashed onto the screen. It’s located in a park, one which Lance recognises to be near Keith’s campus. A man holds the phone up to take the photo - a scarover his nose and a warm smile tugging at his face. He has dark hair, like Keith, and is pushing a cap over Keith’s face, so that most of it is hidden. The smile on Keith’s face _huge_ \- he’s never seen Keith smile like that before, as he claws at the other’s arms to try and get him off. They both look like they’re laughing. So carefree, contempt. 

It’s _cute_. 

Lance smiled, closing it down and shutting the laptop. Lance wondered why Keith had never mentioned him - they look close.

-

“Did you know that chickens have two tummies? I wish I had two tummies.”

“Uh…really?” Keith watched Nadia put a pink dress on her doll, upside down, a little frown on concentration on her face. 

“Yup. If I had two tummies, I’d be able to eat two desserts!”

“Oh. I wish I had them too.” Keith watched her make the doll walk across the carpet, towards the stuffed platypus he was holding, unsure of what she wanted him to do with it. 

She tugged the doll back at the last minute. “I think she needs to be an alien.” She grabbed a green marker and started colouring in the dolls face before Keith could say a word.

“All done!” Lance walked in brandishing a freshly printed batch of paper. It was even stapled together. “Nadia! No colouring in the doll!” He sighed. “That cost _way_ too much money to be ruined by a pen.” He sank to his knees next to Keith, handing him the book. “I read it.”

“O-Oh.” Keith frowned. “I mean, I didn’t really work _that_ hard on it. It’s a kids book so I don’t think it really shows-“

“Shut up, Mullet! It was perfect!” Lance pointed to his eyes, which were slightly pink. “It made me _cry_! You did my Papa so proud, Keith.” He pulled him in for a tight hug, before realising what he was doing and pushing him away just as quickly. He coughed, turning to Nadia, who was watching them both with a frown. “Hey, Nadia, didn’t Keith say he’d take you to the moon?”

“After breakfast.” She mumbled, turning back to giving her barbie an alien makeover.

“It’s probably almost ready,” Lance stood up quickly. “We’d better get your hands washed of all that ink and get you downstairs, hm?” Lance lifted Nadia up, making spaceship noises as he whirled her around. “To planet bathroom! Let’s go!”

-

Breakfast was fine. Keith stayed quiet and listened to Rosa question Marco about how Nadia’s coping now she only sees her mother on the weekends. Marco bitterly said how Nadia only ever tells him that she watched TV in her room and ate takeout.

Keith helped Nadia draw a smiley face with syrup onto her pancake whilst the others discussed Marco’s ex-wife, feeling like it wasn’t really his place to listen. Nadia is delighted with the lopsided-face now squiggled onto her single pancake.

“So, Nadia, are you excited for tomorrow?” Veronica gave Nadia a gentle smile, trying to stifle a yawn. 

“Yeah!” Nadia jumped up and down in her chair while Marco tried to wipe syrup off her face. “Grandma! Keith is taking me to the moon today to see grandpa! Do you want to come too? I bet he misses you!”

Everyone at the table froze and looked to Rosa. She smiled stiffly. “That’s lovely, Nadia. Make sure you and Keith tell him I said hello.”

No one spoke, after that. Apart from Nadia, who constantly asked Keith questions about space, as though he knew all the answers in the world.

-

Hearing the story of his Papa and Nadia almost made Lance cry a second time. He watched from the doorway, as Keith sat next to Nadia on the couch, reading quietly as she hung onto his every word. She had already heard it once - had read it over when Keith had awkwardly dropped it amidst her toys after breakfast, and remained quietly seated next to Lance for the rest of the day. 

Lance had kept catching Rachel watching them - her and Luis had arrived just after midday - but never had a chance to pull her aside to check on her.

Nadia had dropped the story on Keith’s lap later that evening. She’d taken it upon herself to illustrate the story, and now she demanded that he read it to her. So he did. And Rosa had quickly left the room. Veronica had followed quickly after her, and guiltily, Lance had too. Eventually, everyone had just left them to it. 

But Lance hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to leave completely. So he listened from the doorway. He watched how Keith put on a different voice for every character - every alien Nadia and his Papa encountered as he gave her a tour of the moon. He spoke so softly and gently to her, as her eyes drooped and she yawned, that even Lance felt himself get lulled to sleep. 

And then he was finished, and Marco had told Nadia that it was time to get back to the hotel. She sleepily put on her coat, and said goodbye to everyone, making sure to give Keith a big hug as Marco quietly murmured something in Keith’s ear, before they both left. Rachel and Luis had both followed. When Rachel had hugged Lance goodbye, she’d hesitated, looking from him, to where Keith sat, smiling softly at the pictures Nadia had drawn him, then back to Lance. 

Whatever she was going to say, she decided against it, only pulling him in for another hug, and closing the front door quietly behind her. 

Lance placed a gentle hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Hey, Mr. Shakespeare. Let’s go. You look like you’re about to drop.”

“And you don’t?” Keith raised an eyebrow, but stood up and followed Lance back upstairs. 

This time, it was Lance lying awake, while Keith slept. He’d fallen asleep while in the middle of writing, the idiot, so Lance had carefully pried his open notebook from his hands. 

Lance tried not to read it. But one sentence caught his eye. A sentence that sparked a curiosity. And he couldn’t sleep. He _had_ to read it, but he knew that Keith protected that journal with his _life._

But…how bad could it be? The worst that could happen is that he discovered Keith writes porn, or finds a really crappy poem that Keith didn’t want to see the light of day. Right? He wouldn’t even know. Lance didn’t have to tell him. 

That’s what Lance told himself as he opened it back up, found a random page, and read.

_Hey Shiro._

_I failed my modernism assignment, but hey, we all knew that was coming. I can’t focus on anything anymore. Kolivan’s giving me an extension but I don’t even know if that’ll help. I won’t bore you with it - I know you pretend to be interested but you’ve always hated english, so…_

_Lance isn’t as bad as I thought. We’ve been talking a lot recently and he seems like a nice guy. A good friend._ **_ONLY A FRIEND._ ** _I know you’re laughing at me wherever you are right now. Stop._

_I don’t really know why I’m still doing this, though. It really isn’t a good idea to lie to people, right? Especially your family? I shouldn’t be encouraging it._

_But he’s good company. And I know it’s not your fault, but I’ve been feeling really low, recently. The apartment feels so empty and I think I’d take anyone’s company at this point. Even James’s. (Don’t tell him I said that - not that you can. Ugh.)_

_I keep coming home and thinking you’re gonna be there. It’s been months since they said you’re MIA - you’re pretty much as good as dead. Sometimes I wish we’d swa-_

The rest was scribbled out so violently the page had torn in some places. Lance could hardly make out any letters under the tangles of black ink, and after what he’d read, after the guilt began to bubble in his gut, he decided he wasn’t going to try. 

Lance bit his lip, looking back to where Keith slept soundly, a ray of moonlight cutting through the window, looking as though it sliced right over Keith’s face. 

He felt his throat close up, a tiny voice niggling in the back of his head told him _he shouldn’t have read that._

But he had.

Carefully, he closed the book and rested it on his table. He lay down, half considering shuffling over and wrapping his arms around him, to prove to him that he _wasn’t_ alone. Not anymore. Because even if this whole thing is fake. Even if Keith doesn’t like him back, sees him as _only a friend_ , that’s better than nothing, right? They don’t have to stop being friends after this, do they?

_Do they?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt so real, but it was fake. It was meant to be fake. It was a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: >:)
> 
> Also me: *disappears for two months* 
> 
> I'm sorry!! Things have been crazy. :(
> 
> But I'm back! Everyone thank one of my professors who started up a weekly online writing club. I finally had the energy to join in last week and it kicked me back into writing again. I'll try not to disappear for too long again haha. I hope you enjoy this chapter!! 
> 
> If you're still here, thank you so much!! I very much appreciate it. ❤️
> 
> (For anyone wondering - Painting Flowers will also be getting an update in the next week or so. <3)

Keith is being paranoid. He knows that. He knows that Lance barely squeaking out a ‘good morning - merry Christmas!’ To him and running to hide with his mother downstairs is probably normal. It seems strange and out of character, but Keith tries to remind himself that they’re strangers - well, hopefully friends now, at least, but ultimately, he barely _knows_ Lance.

His writing may be taking a different turn, constantly swathed in shades of blue and yearning, but that certainly wasn’t to do with Lance. He can’t even find words to describe his appearance (and Keith firmly pushes away the thought that that was because no word within his vocabulary was good enough.)

Still, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that Lance was being normal, today felt different. Strange. And not in the way that it usually does - how the day seems to feel special because it’s _Christmas._ More, in a way that the air itself has changed. As though someone has flipped the lens, put everything through a mirror - everything stays the same as it always has been, yet it is entirely different at the same time. 

Keith notices his notepad in a different position to what it had been when he’d placed it there last night.

Keith may well be gong insane, but living in an orphanage and shifting between prying foster parents taught him to notice when someone has touched his belongings. But Lance probably hadn’t read it - only moved it. Before Keith could doubt himself - because Lance wouldn’t do that when he knows Keith hates him reading through his work, he pushes himself to get up and wash, and make himself presentable enough to go downstairs and greet Lance’s family.

-

As soon as Keith stepped into the kitchen, the conversation stopped. Lance couldn’t look Keith in the eye. Keith shuffled, wrapping his hands around himself. Rosa gave him a warm smile. 

“Ah, there he is! Merry Christmas, sweetheart!” She rushed forward and kissed him on the cheek, “could you please help Lance go into the attic? We need to get Nadia’s presents down under the tree before she arrives.”

“Uh, sure,” Keith watched Lance jump from his perch on the kitchen counter, beckoning Keith to follow him without a word. 

It was awkward, watching Lance tussle with a ladder, open the small hatch and climb through, all in complete silence. At the same time, the door knocked - Rachel could be heard loudly greeting Rosa.

Keith climbed up into the attic once Lance’s feet had disappeared. It was stuffy and filled with dust - apart from a few carefully wrapped presents piled inside. Keith noticed the old, dusty pool table kept in the centre, and the amount of blankets and cushions scattered everywhere. There were old toys still sitting amoungst the blankets, as though whoever was using it had just upped and left one day. 

Keith picked up a small rabbit toy, frayed. Lance snatched it away quickly. 

Keith expected a story, something bittersweet - maybe this was a den Lance’s father made, or maybe his siblings had made it until they’d all inevitably grown out of secret clubhouses. Lance looked from Keith to the toy, hesitating, before frowning. He stuffed the small rabbit into his back pocket and lifted up an armful of presents, not saying a word to Keith. 

It took two trips. Keith followed Lance back to where he was folding up the ladder. 

“Is everything okay?” Keith asked, watching Lance struggle.

“Fine. Everything’s fine. Just…need a minute.” 

Keith gave a nod, but found it hard to leave. 

“Keith, it’s fine,” Lance repeated. So Keith left. 

-

Christmas for Keith had always been the same. He’s get up at a ridiculous hour in the morning and head to work. He’d be assigned a section of the restaurant by a military-like Iverson in order to make sure the hoard of customers were served as quickly as possible for the next seating. On the occasion James would be working Christmas, he’d also be forced to wear a hot and itchy elf hat that always ended up thrown to the back of the bar an hour into the shift. 

He’d be there, sick of the same four Christmas tunes rotating on their special ‘Christmas playlist’, sick of the sound of children screaming and _sick_ of scrubbing gravy out of the carpet, all the way up until the very late hours of the night. He’d pack cold leftovers into some tin foil and take them home, just in time to catch the bad Christmas movie reruns that no one cares about. 

So _this_ Christmas was surreal. Rather than watching families have the ‘perfect’ day while he sat reeking of alcohol and kitchen grease, his feet aching, he was _in_ that movie. 

(Kind of).

Nadia and Marco had arrived ridiculously early. Nadia was dressed in a reindeer onesie, the nose on her hood flashing red. She was ecstatic to find that Father Christmas had taken note of her letter and remembered to deliver her presents to her Nana’s. 

Lance…Lance was still acting strange. After the odd attic moment, he had been treating Keith as though he was made of glass. He had no idea what Lance was doing, or why he was doing… _that_. He wished he was better at reading people, so he could maybe get a vague idea as to what was up with him. 

It was after their meal - and Keith found it strange to be able to sit and eat _hot_ Christmas dinner rather than hand it out by the dozen, for once - when Nadia was tearing open a small princess themed makeup kit from Rachel, that Lance had let his issue slip. 

Louis had been switching through the channels on their TV, settling on an old war film, when Lance had spoken up.

“Can you change that?” Lance asked, from sitting next to Keith. He hadn’t said a word to Keith all day, except to ask if he had wanted anything to drink, or to put his hand on his knee and pretend that they’d both gotten Nadia an animal encyclopaedia and a stuffed giraffe. 

“Why? We always watch it?” At that moment, everyone’s eyes were on the two. Lance looked between Keith and Louis. 

“Well, Keith’s brother-“ Lance quickly cut himself off.

Keith’s eyes widened. His journal had been shifted. Lance was treating him like glass. Papers from inside had fallen onto the floor, but he was certain he hadn’t-

“Lance.” Keith stood quickly. “I think we should grab some more drinks for everyone.” He grabbed Lance’s arm tightly. Lance followed, head bowed guiltily. 

The kitchen felt cold. Rosa had left the window open after they’d eaten. The windowpane dribbled with droplets of rain. The dim yellow light above them flickered as the wind howled outisde. Someone had left the radio playing quietly, tinny Christmas music drifting through the tension between them. 

“What were you about to say?” Keith asked. A part of him hoped Lance hadn’t. He may have trusted Lance to search through his laptop, potentially read some of the stuff he had on there, but his journal…even _he_ refused to read whatever he had read in there. It was personal. Full of pieces he would never allow to see the light of day. Full of letters to Shiro that Keith would rather burn than have someone else read. 

He was worried Lance didn’t get that. He wore his heart on his sleeve - his life was there for everyone to see. Keith couldn’t think of anything more terrifying.

“Well, um,” Lance shuffled awkwardly. He knew exactly what Keith was talking about, then. Keith felt anger seethe through him. “I just want you to know that I really didn’t mean it. You fell asleep and it was open and I just saw a couple of words, that’s all I—“

“You read my journal.”

Lance let his head drop in defeat. “Yeah.”

And Keith was going to…well, he didn’t know. He’d never even entertained the idea that someone would be able to read it, because he had never even allowed anyone to get that _close_ to him. Even Iverson knew nothing about it - the reason he was so pissed off about taking time off when he’d received the letter that Shiro was MIA, was because he’d skipped out on the week and his only excuse was ‘family matters’. He didn’t know how to _tell_ people. Because he’d spent his whole life being pitied, and he hated it. It made him worse. Made him feel-

“I know you’re mad,” Lance looked crestfallen. He fiddled with the sleeves on his godawful Christmas jumper, pulling at the loose threads as he shuffled. “I didn’t mean to. I promise that. Besides, you _left_ it open - you let me read your stuff, sometimes!”

“You’re blaming this on me?!” Keith growled. “Next you’ll be saying it’s my fault you have to lie to your parents that we’re engaged!”

“Well, if you weren’t standing so close to the edge of the track, we wouldn’t even be in this mess!”

A mess? This thing he and Lance had was…a mess.   
“Stop changing the subject, Lance!” Keith shoved Lance into the counter. “ _You_ read something private and you’re not even gonna own up to it?! Fuck you!”

Keith tried to take a breath, because things were feeling too heavy all of a sudden. Because he’d never let someone see so _much_ and he was worried that those who saw him like this would leave, like Shiro. Like _everyone_. He felt his hands tremble, the rain outside sounded too loud. The Christmas songs were nauseating. The bought of laughter from the lounge startled him. 

“Keith?” Lance placed a hand on his shoulder. “Keith, breathe. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I was dodging the blame…again. I’m sorry. Just…breathe.”

Keith focused on that. Focused on the feel of smooth wood under his palms. The fact that Lance had sat him in a chair. Focused on the blue eyes staring back at him, worried. 

Keith wasn’t sure how long time had passed, only that Lance had taken his hands, finally looked guilty. Lance took a deep breath. “Okay. I don’t have an excuse for reading through something private. It was wrong. I should have stopped as soon as I realised. I’m sorry.”

Keith cleared his throat, “what did you read?”

“Just that your brother is MIA,” Lance mumbled. 

“That’s why I wanted to help you,” Keith wasn’t sure why he’d decided to lay himself bare all of a sudden, but the words were flowing like water through palms. He couldn’t stop them - wasn’t sure if he wanted to. “I just…I’m grieving too. And I didn’t have anyone to help me. I didn’t think I needed anyone, because a part of me always thinks he’s gonna come back. I guess…I’m not doing this for the money. I just…I want a distraction too.”

Lance gave him a small smile. “C’mere, mullet. I think we should hug it out.”

Keith stands and throws himself into Lance’s arms, and they hold each other. Lance rocks them slowly, to the music. “We’re more alike than we think, huh?” Lance mumbled. Keith nodded into his shoulder. 

“We’d better cheer up quick before we go back to the others,” Keith mumbled hoarsely, hesitant to step away from Lance just yet. Teardrops clung to Lance’s eyelashes, his blue eyes more vivid against the pink veins surrounding them. 

“Y’know what my Papa used to do, when I used to be upset?”

Lance placed a hand onto Keith’s face, thumbing away the tears on his cheeks. “He’d tell me to dance it out. He’d put on some music and we’d all dance. He’d do these awful dad moves and I’d end up laughing so hard my stomach hurt,” Lance smiled at the memory. “Anyway - what I’m saying is, Mr. Kogane, would you like to dance?”

“Oh no. I can’t dance. We’re not doing that.”

“Keith, c’mon!” Lance placed his hands in Keith’s and forced them to sway. “The fact that you can’t dance is just gonna cheer me up.”

“Fine,” Keith huffed, and allowed Lance to move them around, hands held to his hips as they moved. 

Keith couldn’t tear his gaze away from Lance’s face, from the freckles peppering his skin, from the blush settled on his tearstained cheeks, only-

Only Keith stepped on Lance’s foot. 

Lance yelped. “You weren’t lying!” He laughed. Keith couldn’t help but do the same. Lance pulled him even closer, their noses almost touching. 

Keith leant closer, staring at Lance’s lips, tugged into such a sweet and caring smile. He was tempted, tempted to lean even closer and-

“Uncle Lance!” Nadia tore into the room, Rosa following after her. She saw Keith and Lance in each others arms, and smiled so softly. Keith jolted away, before realising that this had to be okay. That his heart shouldn’t be hammering so hard against his chest. Shouldn’t be feeling so hot, feeling his cheeks turn scarlet. It had to be _normal._

And was it? It felt so _real,_ but it was fake. It was meant to be fake. _It was a mess_ \- Lance had said. 

“We’re taking a trip down to the church,” Rosa had said to them. “You’re welcome to join, Keith. We will be in the hall, waiting. I’ll give you some time - but don’t be too long!” She winked.

Nadia grabbed some flowers from the vase on the counter, dripping water everywhere as Rosa ushered her back out of the room. 

“You’re religious?” Keith asked, finally pulling away from Lance. It felt…wrong. Cold was able to seep back between them again.

“No. We visit my papa’s grave every Christmas. It’s uh, depressing. Everyone cries. I understand if you don’t want to come. No one will mind.”

Keith chewed on his lip, “I think…I’ll miss that out. It sounds like something I shouldn’t intrude on, considering I’m just a stranger.”

Lance’s smile fell to a frown. “Yeah. Okay. Help yourself to whatever while we’re gone - except the disgusting Christmas cake. Nadia’ll kill you. It’s her job to cut the first slice, this year.”

“I wouldn’t think of it. I’ve got some work to do anyway. For uni. I’ll be okay. Go be with your family.”

Lance hesitated, looked to Keith, before managing a measly wave. “See ya, mullet.”

The nickname fell flat. Everything felt…flat, after what they’d just shared. But as Lance left, Keith realised that maybe…maybe he was making something out of nothing. Maybe it didn’t feel so…special to Lance, as it had done to Keith. 

This was a _mess_ , after all. A mess Lance had gotten them into. Not…not a strike of luck. Not something _special._ After this, Lance won’t want to know him. Not after Keith has outlived his use.

-

The sound of raindrops pattering on Lance’s umbrella only added to the dismal mood. He and his family arrived at the church in silence, the trees whispering and shaking spray in the wind. Veronica lead the way, holding Nadia’s hand, who is holding that bunch of flowers as gently as she can. Louis and Marco spoke in hushed voices, Rachel linked arms with Mama, and Lance followed a few steps behind. 

He felt bad for leaving Keith behind, but he knew it would be way too awkward. Keith had said he had work to get on with, anyway. Lance couldn’t ask him to be a shoulder to cry on, to see his family like this, on top of everything else. 

Papa’s ashes had been surrounded by other graves over the years, so much so, they couldn’t quite get to it anymore. Nadia wove through the small gaps and placed the flowers down. Marco took Mama’s other side and placed an arm around her, as they all stand, in silence. 

When Lance went here alone, he would always talk to Papa. It made things easier, somehow. But now, he couldn’t find any words. What could he tell him? That he forced a complete stranger to pretend to be engaged to him so he could cheer his mother up? That he was scared to break her heart by the end of it all? That he still missed him so much that it _hurt_? 

That he was scared. Scared because after Christmas, he’s never going to see Keith again. That he’s actually starting to feel as though what he’s faking is _real_ , knowing that it’s one-sided - who would fall for a stranger forcing them to lie and pretend to be engaged?Somehow, that was the worst part. 

The air had gotten too thick. He walked away, further down the graveyard, taking a deep breath. 

“Lance?” Rachel had followed him, standing, dressed all in black, a dark shadow amongst the shrubbery of the graveyard. “Are you okay?” Her voice was so soft it almost got lost in the wind. She placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder.

“No.” Lance shook his head. There was no use lying to her. She could see through him. Which is maybe why, her next words didn’t quite come as a surprise. 

“I just…I want to tell you that I, um…I know you’re faking it. With Keith.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, so sorry this has taken yet another month! Not only do I have things going on back at home right now, but I also am in the process of moving out, so unfortunately I've had barely any time to write :( I can't say that updates will get any quicker, but I can say that updates will definitely still happen! I love writing this so much and I'm having way too much fun with it to let it go. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with it! 
> 
> I also have a little announcement on my pinned post on my tumblr page - go check out my tumblr to see what it is! :D 
> 
> Link: https://petalsandpurity.tumblr.com/

The pattering of the rain was the only sound between them. Lance’s heart dropped and shattered just like the raindrops falling onto the ground.

“Faking?” Lance tried to play dumb. “Faking what?”

“I heard you and Keith talking in the kitchen. After you both walked off I just wanted to check you were okay. And, to be honest, I knew before that. You act different around him. Different to how you have when you’ve taken other people home. You’re both really awkward, but like, painfully so.” She frowned. “Why?”

Lance cleared his throat. “It was a mistake. I fucked up bad, Rachel.”

Rachel said nothing, only nodded at Lance to carry on. A crow cawed from somewhere distant.

Lance spoke. He told her how he and Keith had met, on the station (he missed out how he had been pining after him for much longer than that). He’d said how it’d been a big misunderstanding - a lie that only grew bigger, and bigger as time went on.

“You need to tell them, Lance,” Rachel told him. “Mama will understand. It’s only going to get worse. Not just for her, or for Keith, but for you. Are you sure that Mama is the only reason? You never keep anything from her.”

 _Not before dad died,_ Lance thought, feeling a stab in the chest when he realised that Rachel was actually, unfortunately, right.

His first reaction was to hide behind a smile and reassure her that it _was_ the only reason, but he was sick of lying and wanted someone on his side, who he could confide in. And who better than his own twin?

So, under the whispering branches, as the rain poured on, Lance finally began to unload what had been weighing so heavily on his shoulders this whole time.

-

Keith had been left alone. The rain was pattering against the windowpane, the trickling of the water falling from the gutter sounding very much like the trickle of a pond, or a lake. Cars raced past outside, splashing through the wet roads. The wind howled and rattled at the window.

A synthetic sea-breeze smell permeated the air, from Lance’s small diffuser kept on his desk. The smell of the dinner they’d had still lingered in the air, warm, homely cooking that Keith had almost teared up at eating. Lance’s family had been just - _just_ like the families in the movies he’d watched as a kid, or as reruns after work. He’d always thought they were too perfect to be real, but here it was, right in front of him.

He brought himself away from those thoughts quickly, looking back down at his journal.

Kolivan had been determined to make every student in his class come into the habit of writing two pages a day of what is happening in the _now,_ to them, or to the world. Keith had always grit his teeth and ignored the advice, not ever really wanting to stop and _think_ , more just to _do._ Stopping and thinking meant that Keith would have to face and come to terms with certain things. Things he’d been running from for a while. So he took to writing to Shiro instead, and told Kolivan it was too personal to share with the class and faced no pressure after that.

Today, though, he decided to give it a go. His mind was still whirling from hat had happened with Lance earlier, so much so, he wasn’t sure if he _could_ run from it. So he sat, hand trembling as he started writing what was happening right _now._

He stopped, brought himself back to the prompt. Focused on two words.

‘ _I am…’_

He was cold, because the McClain’s hadn’t told him how to work the heating, and he didn’t want to waste their money away. He was buried under the blankets in Lance’s room, partly because of the chill in the air, mostly because if they back and he was too lost in his own thoughts, only Lance had the potential of catching what he was writing. And he was…okay with that?

He paused, pen tapping against the paper. Visions of earlier flash across his mind. He’d never let anyone read his letters to Shiro - he was terrified that someone would read them. So why did he forgive Lance so easily? Why did some weight fall from his shoulders, when Lance had been so understanding? Why did he tell him _more_?

Keith’s fingertip traced his bottom lip. They’d almost _kissed_. Why did he almost let that happen? He knows that Lance is just using him to make his family happy, but if he _did_ feel something for Keith, then was he really ready for that? Was he ready to let someone back in when they might leave him too?

He…didn’t know.

But as his pen met paper again, there was one thing he was certain of, as he continued to write.

He was _falling for Lance._

_-_

When Lance and Rachel made their way back to the group, he felt as though everyone was looking at him. As though they all had igured it out as well. He hated it, walking back home, just waiting for someone to come out and _say it._

He knew this secret couldn’t last longer. The rope keeping him from falling was down to it’s very last tethers. He just…wasn’t sure what was worse; his mama getting angry at himbecause she found out through someone else, or her getting upset because he pretended he and Keith had broken up a few weeks later.

When they got home, the house was cold. Rachel turned on the heating and Lance quickly searched for Keith without saying a word to anyone else. He needed to tell him that Rachel knew their secret.

Keith found him, though, stepping out of Lance’s room. Keith placed a hand in his and looked warily at him. “Hey, can we-“ Keith began, only to be interrupted by Veronica from downstairs.

“Lance, Keith! Stop eating each other’s faces and come eat some real food!” Veronica called from the kitchen.

“What is it?” Lance ignored her, though Keith had already pulled away.

“It doesn’t matter,” Keith shook his head and forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

He was distant for the rest of the night, picking at the small plate of food from the buffet that Mama had set out, not really eating. He looked tired, and Lance wondered if he needed some space. He gave him a nudge.

“Hey, want to come out with me for a walk? We can get some fresh air.”

“It’s okay, you should be spending time with your family,” Keith muttered. “I’m fine.

“I usually take Nadia out for a walk around the block to look at the Christmas lights. You should come with us,” Lance insisted, because it would at least give them a chance to talk, too.

Keith hesitated, before giving a small nod. Lance took to his feet. “Hey, Nadia, wanna go check out the Christmas lights with me and Keith? Give your dad a break?”

“Yeah!” Nadia immediately jumped up from her place on the floor, tripping over her toys in her hurry to grab her coat and her shoes.

“You lose her again and you’re dead, McClain,” Marco muttered between mouthfuls of food.

“Again?” Keith asked, a flicker of a smile falling over his face.

“It happened _once_ ,” Lance huffed.

-

Nadia ran out in front, pointing at the small light-up reindeers on top of roofs, and the blow-up snowmen sitting on people’s driveways. The wind was bitterly cold, making Lance pull his coat tighter around him. Keith had his beanie on, reminding Lance of the day that had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

“Y’know, my dad used to take me for a walk before bedtime around the neighbourhood. We’d look at all the lights on the houses and he’d take me to the park to burn off some energy so I’d sleep,” Lance smiled. “I love my family, but I had so many siblings that sometimes it was easy to be forgotten. So he took me for a walk, just me and him, so we could spend some time together.” Lance smiled into his scarf. “There’s this big white house, just down here. It used to belong to a girl and her father - they moved away a couple of years ago. I used to have this _huge_ crush on her. They had the _best_ lights. There’d be reindeer on the driveway and little fairy lights on the trees so it looked like they were covered in snow. It was my favourite.” He turned to Keith, face aglow with some lights coming from the house next door. He was watching Lance, eyes wide, hanging onto every word. There was a subtle mist to his eyes, like clouds drifting over the moon. “Even before he died, he used to take a walk with me. It was a little tradition of ours. We’d take Nadia with us, but, uh, I usually take her alone now.”

Keith gave a single nod. They came to the iron gates of the park lance spoke about, where Nadia stood, climbing on the bars.

“Uncle Lance? Uncle Keith? Can I _please_ play? Five minutes?”

Lance pretended to consider it, placing a hand to his chin.

“Alright. Five minutes, okay? You get too cold, you come straight back.”

She saluted. Lance returned the gesture and pulled open the gate for her. She ran inside, going straight for the swings. Keith and Lance stay out of earshot, watching her swing back and forth.

Lance remembered how he would sit on those swings, and how his father would push him higher and higher, how he would jump off as the swing reached its highest point and go tumbling to the ground. Of how his mother would scold his father because Lance would come back with bruises and scrapes on his knees. Of how, even now, Lance found it hard to be back here.

He looked to Keith, who was looking towards Nadia, but his eyes were glazed over, lost in his thoughts. Lance took a deep breath.

_Here goes nothing._

“I don’t think I’ve gotten over my father’s death yet,” Lance blurted.Keith turned to him, silent, listening. Unsurprised. “I’m scared I never will. I’m scared my family will never recover from it.

Lance expected only a nod from Keith, or maybe an apology. He didn’t expect Keith to lay a part of him bare, too.

“I feel the same way about Shiro,” Keith mumbled, looking up to the night sky above them. The cool night air drifted between them. All awkwardness and tension had drifted away, and Lance felt…Lighter?

Keith spoke about him and Shiro. How they aren’t fully brothers, but Keith never had a family and Shiro’s were distant. How they had made their own family. Shiro had gotten Keith out of many scrapes - he used to own a bike, had to sell it when Shiro disappeared — he’d crashed it, once. Not only had Shiro taken time off to help him (he’d broken his leg, he’d told Lance), but he’d also gone out of his way to drive him to work and university afterwards, so he didn’t have to pay for rail fairs while he saved to get it fixed.

“He was the first person to get me, y’know? I was a troubled kid. I got myself into a lot of trouble, but he never judged me for it. He didn’t act as though that defined me.” Keith blinked, eyes gleaming over in the soft shine from the moon. A small streak of silver fell down his cheek. Lance reached forward to thumb it away, keeping his hand cupped over Keith’s cold cheek.

“It doesn’t define you, he was right,” Lance whispered.

More tears dripped from Keith’s eyes, and yet he smiled, so softly, so faintly, that Lance was worried that if he blinked, it’d disappear.

If Lance had a way with words, he’d try and find some to tell Keith how much he _truly_ meant that. How…how special and important he’d become to Lance these past months. How, no matter how big of a mess they’d gotten themselves into, he would do it all again. Because he didn’t regret it. _Any_ of it. How could he regret meeting someone quite like Keith?

He wouldn’t. He _couldn’t._

Just like he couldn’t regret, how in that moment, he leant forward and kissed him.

His arms pulled Keith close as he gently, tentatively pushed his lips against him, worried he’d scare him away. Keith kisses him back, lips salty from his tears, hand gripping onto Lance’s arm tightly, squeezing as though he was scared he’d let go-

Keith let go. He pulled away. More tears dribbled down his cheeks. Lance felt something heavy settle in his chest.

“Uncle Lance?” Nadia ran back, tugging at Lance’s sleeve. She was so close, yet it sounded as though she was miles away. He still stared at Keith, who scratched at his arm, looking to the ground.

“Uncle Lance!” She tugged harder. Tugged Lance back to _now_. “I’m cold. Can we go home?”

Lance looked to Nadia. He managed to shake the fuzziness settling in his brain away, somewhat. “Okay. Okay. Let’s go home. Keith?”

He said Keith’s name softly. Keith still startled.

“I’ll, um,” Keith cleared his throat, already turning away to the horizon, closing himself off from Lance and Nadia. “I’m going to hang back for a while.”

Lance didn’t know how to feel. What to say. So he didn’t. He just walked, holding Nadia’s hand maybe a little too tightly, as they left Keith alone amongst the shadows of the park.

-

Nadia was quiet on the way back. Lance was thankful. The Christmas lights blurred. Lance felt as though he was falling, even though the ground remained firm and icy beneath his feet. His lips were numb. Nadia tugged at Lance’s sleeve.

“Uncle Lance?”

Lance hummed.

“Why is Uncle Keith always so sad?”

“I don’t know, Nadia,” Lance croaked out, though as he caught his reflection, warping in the puddle they stepped through, he had a pretty good guess. “I don’t know.”

-

Lance was worried Keith wouldn’t come back.

But he waited. In the dark. He tried not to think, tried to just focus on the grooves in the ceiling. Counting the seconds that ticked by He was unsure if he was counting how long it took for Keith to come back, or how long it had been since his heart had completely shattered, but, as soon as he heard the front door softly click open, he stopped. His breath caught in his throat as he feigned sleep, feeling like he’d been caught up after lights-out.

The door clicked open, and soft footsteps shuffled in. Clothes fell to the ground. Lance cracked open his eyes ever so slightly, seeing Keith’s silhouette, small and hunched in the corner, before he passed over to the bed, laying face down away from Lance.

They usually slept like this, but somehow, it felt like Keith was miles away, and the space between them was an iced-over lake. A lake Lance had tried to cross, only to cause the thin barrier between them to crack and break.

There was a sigh. “I’m sorry,” Keith whispered into the darkness, and Lance spent the rest of the night wondering _why._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen.

The hiss of a kettle. The copper stains of tea. The cold, chill of the morning, unshaken by the steam coming from his mug. His trembling hands, clutching onto the burning cup, hoping to absorb some warmth. 

Keith tried to write it all down. He wanted to freeze this moment. To take notes. Because he understood his surroundings, the pain and pressure filling his chest. It was a great distraction to what was going on in his head. 

He wore Lance’s jumper. The sleeves were fraying at the edges, the pastel blue faded and washed out to a grey. It was big, and warm. The soft inside was now bobbled and worn thin. 

Keith had worn through most of his clothes and didn’t want to wash them with the same detergent that lingered on all of Lance’s clothes. He didn’t want, when Christmas and New Years was over, and he was sent home, to have to unpack and have Lance still there. Have him remain seeped into his clothes, his closet, like a ghost, a reminder of something else that had left him. 

Keith got himself hurt a lot as a kid, and he had the scars to prove it. He tore his way through more plasters than what was probably normal, so he knew that tearing the bandaid off as quickly as possible was far less painful than tearing it off slowly and carefully. Because tearing it off quickly hardly allowed him time to think of the pain until it had already come and gone. 

Keith raised the mug to his lips, the smell of tea comforting. It was almost medicinal, to him. When Shiro spent a lot of time at home, before he got swept away to the army, he would always brew a pot of tea when there were problems that Keith needed to work through. By the end of the cup, the problem would have been pulled apart, and Keith would feel better, and Shiro would move from the armchair to the couch. He’d lift the woollen blanket Keith was burrowed in and lean into his side, and they would laugh through childish cartoons Keith had never had the privilege of watching as a child. 

So, as Keith forced the last of the tea down his throat, he stared at the stains - the copper rings in the mug, as though trying to find some answer in them. 

But, all that Keith could see was an empty coffee mug that he needed to wash, and realised, through tears of frustration, that it wasn’t the tea that was calming and healing after all. 

-

When Lance woke, he was alone. A part of him relished in it - and a part of him broke. He was worried Keith had left for good, but his laptop was still set in place on his desk. His journal had disappeared, though. Lance wondered if Keith had hidden it, afraid Lance would read it again. 

Lance stumbled downstairs. His mother was there, pouring orange juice while the smell of toast filled the air. 

“Lance, would Keith prefer toast of cereal?”

It felt like such a trivial question, and yet it made Lance’s heart sink lower. He didn’t know. He didn’t know a thing about Keith. He didn’t know if he liked milk in his coffee - he didn’t know if Keith liked the freedom of the summer or the coziness of winter. He didn’t know what Keith’s favourite movie was, what book felt like coming back home every time he read through it. He didn’t know what it was like to sing with him, alone in the car as they drove down the highway, as though they were the only people in the world. He didn’t know how he sounded, in the middle of the night, while lost in skin and sweat and pleasure. He didn’t even know Keith’s hopes, his dreams, or-

“Lance?”

The toaster popped.

Lance forced a: “Ask him.”

“He’s feeding the birds for me - could you ask?”

Lance swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Back when Lance was younger, when the mornings were bitterly cold and he would wake too early and bother his Mama and Papa out of boredom, they would assign him the job of feeding the birds. He thought the job stupid, at first, until his father told him that the birds who didn’t fly away for the winter struggled to find food, so it was incredibly important to fill the bird table every morning. So those birds could eat, and feed their own children. So Lance then took the job very seriously, especially as his other siblings were never appointed the task. It made him feel special. And his Papa would watch, from the window of their bedroom, and Lance would wave, make sure everything was organised perfectly, then sit by the kitchen window and watch intently as the birds slowly came down to it. 

It made him feel incredibly proud. It gave his parents an extra 15 minutes of peace, until the rest of the children woke up and chaos reigned. 

Outside, fat balls had already been hung on the frosty bird table, seeds sprinkled on top. A few birds chirped and fluttered around, nipping what they could without settling. 

Keith was sitting on the doorstep, eyes trained on the table, mind somewhere else. Lance was half tempted to turn and go back - to lie and tell Mama that he’d prefer toast, even if he didn’t. But with a turn of his head, Keith had noticed him. It was too late. 

“Toast or cereal?” Lance blurted, wrapping his hoodie closer around him.

“What?”

“Mama wants to know what you want. For breakfast.”

Keith mulled it over and somehow grew a shade paler.

“I can tell her you’re not hungry,” Lance offered, already envisioning how awkwardly quiet it would be.

“It’s okay,” Keith shook his head. “Cereal.”

Lance hesitated. Waiting, for…something? Just a word. Just…

“Do you need anything else?” Keith asked.

“No,” Lance said.

He lied. Again.

-

Breakfast was quiet. Too quiet. The scraping of spoons in bowls and crunching of toast was grating on Lance’s ears. Keith was a fixed presence beside him. No matter how much Lance tried to distract himself, Keith was always there. Reminding him of what had happened last night.

Marco and Nadia weren’t here, but Rachel, Veronica and Louis were, as well as Mama. They were all silent, too. Lance was worried they could feel the tension between him and Keith.

Keith didn’t eat. He simply stirred the cereal in his bowl, until it had softened to mush.

When Keith excused himself from the table early, voice hoarse and quiet, four pairs of eyes turned to look at him.

“Lance, honey,” Rosa began, concern and worry drifting over her features. “Is everything okay between you and Keith?”

“Yeah, you didn’t come back together last night,” Louis mirrored their mother’s look.

Veronica, however, sniggered. “Trouble in paradise?” She joked, trying to ease the tension when Lance could see her too, look incredibly worried.

Lance felt his chest tighten. He knew he’d have to come up with something. His family would worry if he brushed them off. He needed-

Rachel mouthed: ‘tell them!’ to him, but Lance couldn't bring himself to. 

He couldn’t bring himself back to the days of visiting his mother, only to hear from a pale and exhausted Veronica that she hadn’t left her room yet - had ignored the breakfast and lunch she’d brought to her. He couldn’t bare to go back to Veronica and Louis constantly arguing because Louis was busy travelling for work and was unable to help his fellow eldest sibling carry the weight of their family. He couldn’t go back to feeling like he had not only lost his father, but the rest of his family, too.

He was scared things would go back to how they were. It was irrational, he knew, but he was still so terrified.

“It’s fine. Keith’s having a rough time - he always does around Christmas. He recently lost his brother so not spending Christmas with him is getting to him. We’re okay, he just needs space.”

There were nods all around, except for Rachel, who didn’t look at Lance at all. Everyone went back to eating, except for Mama, who continued to look at Lance - her expression…devastated.

The empty space next to him felt colder. He felt anger spark in him.

-

Keith was back outside, flicking a lighter on and off, and back on again. Lance took a seat next to him. Keith visibly tensed, thumb pressed down, the flame burning it.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lance started, clenching his fists. “You’re giving us away!”

Keith ignored Lance. He continued staring at the flame.

“Hey! I get I made a mistake last night, that’s fine, but you’ve got like two days before you leave. Can’t you just act civil until then?”

Keith continued to stay silent.

“Look, my family are beginning to catch on. Please, just for two more days, can we pretend we are fine with each other? Then you can leave and we can pretend this never happened. You can pretend I don’t exist.” Lance left the words unspoken that he could pretend Keith doesn’t exist, because he wasn’t sure if he would ever have the capability of being able to do that.

“Maybe you should remember who got us into this mess in the first place?” Keith muttered. “You did this to yourself, Lance.”

“But you went along with it! You could’ve gone back on it.”

“Did I have a choice?! You guilt tripped me into it! I didn’t want to be here, stuck with you!”  
“You had the chance to say no. If you hated it so much why didn’t you say so?!” 

“Stop directing this at me. This is your fault. You’re just a coward who can’t get a grip and actually tell the truth! No wonder you feel like your families tearing apart, Lance. It’s because you won’t even fucking talk to them!”

“I want you to pay me back the money I gave you for your rent.”

“Fine! I didn’t want to take it anyway! It was just another way of manipulating everyone around you so you get your fucking perfect life, because you’re too much of a fucking coward to cope with the fact that it’s not!” 

In a spark of fury, Lance went to shove Keith away, shove him away from the pain firing through him. 

Hands grabbed his arms and tugged him back. “Hey! Calm down!” Louis held firmly onto him. Lance could see his Mama standing in the hall, her shadow stark and unwavering in the corner of his eye.

Lance slacked in Louis’s hold. “Keith, babe, I’m sorry, I love you. Let’s go for a walk, we can talk this out.”

Keith only looked more enraged.

“I can’t do this anymore! Just tell them it’s fake, Lance!”

“What? What’s fake?” Veronica looked to Lance. Rachel couldn’t bare to look anywhere but the ground, shaking her head.

“I’m leaving.” Keith leaned in close to Lance and he passed, eyes ablaze with such hatred, glossed with tears. “Fuck you.”

Lance saw him stop briefly in front of Mama, murmur a: “thank you for having me. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused,” before disappearing upstairs. 

Lance tried to follow, because it couldn’t end like this. It couldn’t end on such a bad note, and yet-

“Lance, I think it’s time you told them.” Rachel placed a hand on Lance’s chest, gentle and warm, somewhat soothing the pain that was stabbing through it. 

“I-“ Lance swallowed, looking between his family members. Resigned, he lowered his head. “Okay.”

-

No one was in the hall by the time Keith had packed his things. He had his bag slung over his shoulder, and he stood in the hall, wondering if this is really how he should leave things. 

He was hit with flashbacks of being in care, passed around from foster home to foster home with only a bin-bag full of clothes to his name. He’d argue and fight with everything that crossed his path because he had too much pain locked inside. It was easier to deal with anger than hurt and loss. So he would fight and scream and yell, and parents wouldn’t be able to handle him, and he would find himself in a meeting with his social worker. He would always get the same disappointed tut, the tilted look so the grey washed-out eyes could gaze at him from over silver spectacles. He would pack his clothes and stand in the hall, while his social worker waited by the humming car, waiting and wondering if the family would come to the door to say goodbye.

Sometimes it would be a rushed hug, loose and holding him at an arms length so they wouldn’t touch, followed by a watered down: ‘we’ll miss you’, even though Keith knew they couldn’t get him out of the door fast enough. Sometimes he’d be met with a bitter scowl, a pat on the shoulder and barely a wave from the doorway as he drove away.

The most painful times, however, were when he would stand, and stand, and wait for the family to come to say goodbye. But they wouldn’t, and his social worker would have to call for him to hurry or else he’d miss dinner being served at the care home.

So Keith waited. Waited for Lance to come around the corner, to apologise. Waited for Rachel or Veronica or Louis to say goodbye. Waited for a hug goodbye from Rosa.

Waited for a reason to stay.

But all Keith did was let the winter chill into the house, wasting money on the heating bill. So he took a deep breath, closed the door behind him, and set down the streets.

He didn’t know the area well, or where the nearest train station was, or if it was even within walking distance, but he kept moving forward, because if he stopped, he was scared he would turn back.

He briefly considered getting a motel, calming down and maybe going back the next day, but then he wondered: for what? Lance hated him. He didn’t want him there anymore. Keith wasn’t sure if he would want to stay even if Lance did want him. 

He wasn’t sure if he could set himself up for the potential to love, and fall, and have his heart broken again.

So he kept walking. And walking.

Then his phone rang. His heart jumped, stomach somersaulted, he maybe even skipped his step a little. He wondered if Lance was calling to apologise, or even to yell at him more. Keith considered ignoring the call, but also considered the fact that maybe Lance did want to say goodbye, and Keith hadn’t waited long enough at the door. It was something he’d always worried about as a child. If he were able to wait just another second, would the mother or father run around the corner, exclaiming for him to stay? That they didn’t mean what they said about him being a problem child, or too much too handle, that they actually, truly, wanted to keep him?

Before he knew what he was doing, or that he was clutching too tightly onto hope that was so clearly false, he was lifting his phone from his pocket. The caller ID was not Lance, but it was not a contact he recognised, either. Could it be that Rosa, or Veronica, Louis, Rachel, had gotten his number?

He answered. A gruff, firm voice was on the other side.

“Keith Kogane?” He butchered the pronunciation of his name, but Keith didn’t think to correct him. “We’ve found Takashi Shirogane. We need you to come as soon as possible.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith would find it funny, that he’d ended up where he’d started things with Lance, if he didn’t fucking hate hospitals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long!! I hope you enjoy! <3

Keith would find it funny, that he’d ended up where he’d started things with Lance, if he didn’t fucking hate hospitals.

He was back in a hospital room, sheltered by thin blue curtains. The sound of a heart monitor was the only way he knew that time ever passed in the place - and even then, it seemed to pass incredibly slowly.

Setting foot into hospitals always brought him back to the long hours spent in them for his father, a year after his mother left. That was what he could connect with, with Lance - though he’d never told him.

He was too young to really understand the situation at the time, only knowing that spending his days sitting in a hospital room was so _boring._ The nurses were only able to offer him the back of an empty A&E trauma form and a pen as entertainment.

“Write me a story,” the nurse who had looked after his father- and in turn him too, said when Keith had kicked the plastic chair leg one too many times.

That’s where his whole writing schtick began. Writing himself out of situations - out of grief, of loneliness. It was so easy to be in your own company when your head was so loud with thoughts and feelings from far away places. It was easy to go through change and loss, when your head was worlds away, somewhere safe.

Now, his hands itched for a pen, to escape and not have to face what was in front of him. But he was an adult, now. _The_ responsible adult. He was all Shiro had.

The only reason they’d let Keith inside was because Shiro had no one else - and Shiro’s commander, had told the hospital as such.

So, responsibility lay heavy on Keith’s shoulders. He felt guilty wishing he could go back to that child he once was, scribbling on crumpled medical sheets and tissues, lost in his own fairytale lands and unaware that social workers were already organising a place in a care home for him.

He crumpled the letter in his hands. The edges were already torn. He should find something else to do with his hands, but he couldn’t bring himself to move - in case Shiro disappeared again.

The letter was important. It was signed off by Shiro’s faction. It agreed to cover Shiro’s expensive medical bills - thank _god,_ Keith didn’t think there were enough hours in a _lifetime_ for him to work at the restaurant to cover it himself.

Along with the letter came a small brochure - on how to care for a veteran that had suffered the traumas of a war. It was bulky, overwhelming. There were a list of recommendations on the back for therapists. It had been stuffed out of sight in Keith’s bag.

It all made his head spin.

He still hadn’t been able to bring himself to actually _look_ at Shiro yet - at his face. He didn’t know if he would ever be ready. He’d looked up to him - ever since they’d met in a shitty therapy group in high school. Shiro was always so strong, he’d take the hard questions with ease and answer them truthfully, unlike Keith who was so guarded he refused to even introduce his name for four sessions.

He couldn’t bare to see the man who had kept him going - for whom he’d suffered all the horrible shifts at work to ensure he still had an apartment to come back to- who had urged him, years after dropping out, to apply for university. Who would always read his drafts, even if he’d already read he same thing twice before. The person who laughed with him - who was like a brother to him. He couldn’t bare to see him so weak, so helpless - _broken._

It was always Keith who was the broken one. The one Shiro had to help slowly piece together. But now…

Now Keith had to do the same. And he would. But would he actually be of any help? Would he fuck up and say the wrong thing? Make things worse? How-

The curtain pulled. Keith’s chest clenched - the doctors had said Shiro would finally be okay - or, as okay as he could be, when they’d had to restart his heart, when he’s lost his _arm_ \- but there could be a complication. Or something they missed. Or-

Or it was just James with a coffee.

 _Fucking James,_ the only other person he knew and trusted. (Which wasn’t true - he also had trusted Lance. But he shouldn’t have done, and deserves all the pain he gets for allowing himself to open to someone so quickly).

James, who had picked Keith up in the damn middle of nowhere. Keith didn’t _want_ to call him, but he didn’t know Lance’s side of town and his mind was whirling and he couldn’t breathe or think, and before he knew it James was answering the call-

James, who was so fucking nosy that he’d waltzed right into the hospital with Keith, and when Keith was still shaking and dizzy from the words _amputation_ and _resuscitation,_ James had been the adult and asked the right questions to the doctor, while Keith felt like he was underwater and had to be taken to a hospital ward himself.

(Okay, he was grateful James was here - but he’d never tell him that for fear of never hearing the end of it.)

James slumped into the chair beside Keith, holding out the coffee cup. Keith took it, cradled it in his hands

James took the letter, smoothed it out, and started reading it.

“That’s private,” Keith hissed, but his voice lacked any venom.

James shrugged and carried on reading.

“We’re best friends now. Best friends share everything.”

“We’re not-“ Keith slumped. “I hate you.”

“I love you too, _best bud._ ”

They sat in silence. They hadn’t talked much since James’s car had pulled up by him. The heaters had been whacked to the max, and James had said nothing except: ‘put that clean jumper on,’reaching into the back and throwing him a varsity jacket. Then, more softly: ‘what’s the postcode for the hospital?’

That’d been it. There were no jokes, no teasing. Just quiet company. Reassurance, but no pressure to speak. Keith had appreciated it, so, so much.

This time round, though, after Keith had sunk a bit too far into his own head, James tried to talk. He’d shown him the array of claw marks on his arm from where he’d tried to pet Red while babysitting.

“She’s feisty, like you.”

He’d told him stories of customers - the return of The Rude Old Lady. Ryan had asked him out on a date.

He’d talked too much about his car too, of course.

Keith never responded, or even gave a hint that he’d listened. James wasn’t deterred and kept talking.

Though Keith was grateful (more grateful than he could ever say), that James tried to help him drown out the thoughts that were too loud, it reminded him too much of how Lance would simply have a conversation with himself. How Keith felt the same comfort (but with Lance, also fondness, and something more - something warmer, something that made the corners of his mouth ache because he was smiling too wide).

Keith wished he could stop thinking about Lance, but he couldn’t. He found Lance in his writing, in the washed out blue sleeves of the jacket James had given him. He found Lance in the stars, the moonlight casting through the open window (and the memory of the story of Lance’s father being the man on the moon). 

He was everywhere.

He wondered if Lance too had felt lie and truth blur into something that felt more like…

… _Love._

Even if Lance did. Even if he’d confessed (which, maybe was what that kiss was, in the park), Keith didn’t know if he could do it. If he could bare to see something end. To see someone he loves leave - _again._

Because when Keith cared for someone, he went all in. Feet first, and hoped he didn’t fall.

Hoping was very different from knowing, though. Because he knew Lance would leave eventually, like everyone else.

_But Shiro came back._

“Man, you need to stop moping. You’re making me want to get a tiny violin.” James had to butt his nose in. Again.

“Shut up,” Keith muttered.

James side-eyed him, then sighed and dropped his shoulders. “Look, you may think I hate you - but I don’t! I just want to be your friend; you seem like you need one, and you’re a cool guy, interesting even!” He sighed again. “Let someone be there for you, Keith. You deserve someone to lean on.”

Keithh stayed silent. He watched the slow rise and fall of Shiro’s chest. The wires sticking out his hand. Bandages wrapped around his arm.

“Why didn’t Lance take you to the hospital? Did you both argue?”

Keith knew that no matter how much he tried to shut James out, he somehow always managed to worm his way in.

Keith looked to the flowers on the side table. The flowers James had bought, because apparently Keith’s mood and the greyness of the room was too depressing. They were slightly wilted - the final bouquet left before the hospital shop closed for the night.

They’d be dead soon. They’d be thrown in with the rubbish: forgotten.

“We’re not together,” Keith said.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry-“

“We never were,” Keith said, before he felt too guilty from the sympathy James was giving him.

There was a silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” James asked, quietly. Keith could hear his confusion.

“I…don’t know,” Keith whispered, pulling his knees to his chest, foot rested on the seat of the chair. With each word he felt small, like he was back to being that child in the hospital, alone. Except-

“Well, do you _need_ to talk about it?” James rephrased.

Keith lowered his head, allowed his hair to cover his face. “If you laugh at me, Griffin, _you’ll_ end up in a hospital bed.”

James’s lip quirked up, relief evident in his gaze. “I’d like to see you try, Kogane.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get Lance's side of things. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! A bit of a long note - sorry! Feel free to just skip to the story :)
> 
> it's been a while again, and I'm very, very sorry for that. I had assignments, and my family had caught covid over Christmas (including myself). We're all okay, fortunately it was very mild for all of us, but completely exhausting, so I had no energy to write. I also had loads of final assignments due for university (while ill, fml). 
> 
> Also idk if anyone knows about the situation in the uk but it's pretty rough rn. And everything's up in the air regarding university, and when I can return to accommodation, so my mind has been such a mess I haven't written anything that hasn't been university-related since this was last updated.
> 
> But, hurrah! It's here! Finally. You have a poetry anthology titled 'a poem for every feeling' by ella risbridger to thank. It reminded me how powerful writing is and how it can really get you through tough times. Even though things are a mess, I will write through it. (I highly recommend reading it if you like poetry, btw!) <3
> 
> Again, I cannot promise when the next chapter will be, but this fic will NOT be abandoned. We're getting closer to the end now, it's too far in for me to ditch it. My ma did not raise a quitter, just a professional procrastinator. ;) 
> 
> I hope you're all okay, and please stay safe!

Lance sat at on the doorstep, knees drawn tightly to his chest, the wind stinging his cheeks. He stared at the street, where Keith had ran, and disappeared. He watched, and hoped that he would return. But he hadn’t, and the sun was starting to set now, the sky fading to a dusty pink.

A shadow fell over Lance, then a cup of tea was placed into his hands. His mother smiled, and it reached her eyes, and the weight on Lance’s shoulders became a little lighter, the weight floating into the cold air like the milky steam rising from the mug in his hands.

“I messed up, Mama,” Lance mumbled, his voice hoarse.

“You did.”

“Are you angry at me?” Because usually it was clear when she was angry. The ‘Leandro’ would be used, hands on hips with a slipper in one hand. Now, her slippers were still snug on her feet, and she was _smiling_ at him.

“I’m not angry at you,” she shook her head. “I’m just upset that you had to lie to me. I can’t understand why.”

Lance wasn’t sure how to understand why either, anymore. What had become a simple goal had become so tangled - such a mess that Lance could hardly see what the point of it all had been. Why had he started this? How could he let it get that far?

“I just wanted you to be happy.” Lance took a sip of the tea, let it scald his tongue.

“I am happy. I have you - I have my children with me.”

“You weren’t.” Lance held onto the mug tightly, staring intently at the driveway. It had began to rain - droplets slowly staining the driveway a dark grey. “You weren’t happy. You weren’t the same after Papa died. I just wanted you to be okay again.”

Rosa’s lips drew a thin line. “I’m sorry I made you worry, Lance.”

“I’m sorry too,” Lance mumbled.

There was a silence, then his mama asked the question he’d been dreading to face: “so,what about Keith? What are you going to do, Lance?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you like him? In that way?”  
Lance slowly nodded. His mama pulled him into her side, into a hug.

“Things will work themselves out, Lance.”

-

Hunk sighed, pushing a mug of coffee over the counter. He fanned himself with a napkin. Things were a lot quieter now that the lunch rush had finished. Thank god - because he had a moping Lance to deal with.

Lance was leaning over the counter, cheek pillowed on his arm, tracing his finger in spilt sugar that Hunk should really wipe up.

“Well,” Hunk leant against the other side of the counter, sprinkling cocoa powder on top of Lance’s cappuccino. “The world doesn’t seem to have ended today, at least.”

“Feels like it,” grumbled Lance, voice muffled into his denim jacket.

Hunk had known that Lance had told his family - and he knew it had gone okay, because Lance had Tod him so the night he came home. He just wasn’t sure why Lance was so…miserable. Usually he could read Lance well - they had spent most of their days together, after all.

“What’s wrong?” Hunk decided to finally outright ask him, leaning over him to sort the sugar sachets. He hadn’t asked last night, when Lance had arrived home. It was clear he was exhausted and just wanted to go to bed - most likely from the drive, as he’d had to drop Keith home first in the next town over-

He jolted, almost knocking the jar of sachets over.

“Is it…is it to do with Keith?”

Target: hit. Lance’s face scrunched up.

“I fucked up!” He flung his hands into the air, almost knocking his coffee over.

“Okay,” Hunk turned to Lance and gave him his full attention, “and how did you do that?”

Lance buried his head into his arm and mumbled something Hunk couldn’t hear.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I said I might’ve kissed him!” Lance snapped.

Hunk opened his mouth to speak, but realised he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Lance carried on talking.

“And I thought hey, maybe he likes me back, because he _seemed_ like he did, then he freaked out and pulled away from me, so I gave him some distance, but he was acting so awkward he was giving us away - and I told him that if he wanted to quit he needed to give me back the money, and he just _exploded_ and so did I-“ Lance took a deep breath, grounding himself. “I shouldn’t have forced him into this in the first place.”

“You shouldn’t, but it’s happened now.” Hunk shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Lance laughed bitterly. “You make it sound so simple.”

“You’ll be okay, you’ve been through worse breakups,” Hunk said. “Technically, you always knew this was going to happen. Unless you were _expecting_ to woo Keith?”

“Well, I-“ Lance sighed. “I guess. I just didn’t want it to end on such a bad note, y’know?”

“You just need a distraction.”

“Doing what?”

“Well, I heard Allura is back in town.”

Lance’s head perked up. “What? She is? She didn’t tell me?”

Hunk sighed. “Maybe because you broke your phone?”

Lance hesitated, and flinched. Hunk wasn’t sure what had happened - Lance said he’d dropped it, but Hunk was sure he’d probably thrown it in a fit of rage at some point.

Lance hummed. “Can I use your phone to call her?”

“Sure. Pidge has almost fixed it, by the way.”

Lance groaned. “I’m dreading to find out what the payment is going to be.”

“It’s your own fault,” Hunk sang, catching his mother move out from the kitchen with some more pastries. “Now shoo, moping time is over. I need to get back to work.”

-

Lance lay on his bed, watching the kaleidoscope of reflections from the sun dance across the ceiling.

He dialled a number on Hunk’s phone, holding it to his ear.

“Hello?”  
Lance felt a warmth flood his chest at the sound of Allura’s voice. They’d helped each other through college - while Hunk was at culinary school - and while Lance was still trying to come to terms with losing his father. They’d found solidarity and comfort in each other, as Allura’s mother had died when she was young. For a few months, they’d even dated.

Allura had ended it, though it was more of a mutual feeling. They’d been close friends ever since.

“Hey Allura!” Lance sat up.

“Lance.” Her tone was clipped.

Lance felt guilt tug at his chest. “I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you sooner. Things have been crazy - I’m not even being dramatic this time! I don’t even know where to start.”

Allura waited for him to elaborate, but he still couldn’t find the words, staring intently at the ceiling, hoping to find a prompt there.

Eventually, Allura said: “you sound like you need a drink.”

Lance laughed: “definitely.”

“I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

—

The lights of the club rippled like water above him. The bodies around him were hot and sweaty and moving like waves. Bitter beer settled onto his tongue. Red cups glowed like lanterns, guiding the moving bodies around the crowd. The floor was tacky on the soles of his trainers, the bass booming and vibrating underneath him. The smoke from the stage made the whole venue take on a sweet, musty smell.

Allura had been right - he had needed a drink. They’d gone out, and drank, and danced, and Lance felt better. So he went out again, and again, and found other people who liked him. Who he didn’t have to pretend, who could just give him the love they wanted, right there, right then, and leave the next morning. No painful feelings, no invisible strings attached. Not like with Keith, who’s strings Lance was still trying to untangle himself from. Each night, each drink he downed, they became looser. And looser.

He took a random hand from the crowd and twirled them into his arms.

He remembered him and Keith dancing in the kitchen, slow and silly and sore toes from Keith’s clumsiness.

This was different. Hot and fast. No eyes, just the blonde - _not black -_ ponytail coming loose from the navy elastic in her hair. Soft skin, holding her waist gently. He danced and saw the club lights reflected in her eyes: green-blue-amber-pink-purple. And maybe Lance was drunk, but maybe he saw a halo atop of her head. Or maybe that was the smoke.

He’d kissed her in the centre of the crowd and lifted her off her feet. He’d stumbled into a cab and fallen into the covers with her-

-And he’d woken up on the floor, blinded by the sunlight, a sticky note stuck onto his chest.

_The fuck._

The sticky note had a number on it, with a carefully written name:

_Nyma :) x_

Lance found Hunk in the kitchen, pancakes dished up and ready for Lance to eat, already washing two plates in the kitchen sink.

As soon as Lance slumped into a chair, a coffee was pushed toward him.

“Your mother called me.”

Lance grunted, gulping down the coffee.

“She said she’d called you ten times last night.” Hunk quickly added: “everyone’s okay. She was just checking that _you_ were okay.”

“Thanks-“ Lance began, but Hunk raised a finger to silence him, lips pushed into a thin line.

“I told her: ‘I don’t know’, because I don’t. It’s nice you’re seeing people - but first, random hookups _every_ night are dangerous. Second, even though you go out with Allura every night, and I’m glad you’re getting out, don’t get me wrong - you always come back miserable.”

“I don’t hookup all the time,” Lance mumbled, but felt his defences crumbling.

“Oh, so I haven’t made breakfast for Plaxum, Leena, Brad, and Nyma.” Hunk counted them off his fingers. “All just this _week_?”

“You don’t have to make them breakfast.”

“I’m not mad about the damn breakfast. If you need something to fill your time, why don’t you just pick some extra shifts at the station?”

Lance gave Hunk a glare. He’d already changed his shifts to evening shifts so that he didn’t have to see Keith on his way to university.

“Okay, pick up some extra shifts at the cafe. Just do _something_ because this isn’t healthy Lance, and you know it.”

Their letter box clanks. Something hits the floor with a thud.

“But post has already come today?” Hunk frowned.

Lance got up, noticing a letter lying in the hall. He picked it up. There was no address - just his name, written in careful, eerily familiar handwriting.

Lance ripped it open, finding money inside.

_The same amount he’d given Keith._

Lance threw open the door, ran down the hall, the steps, out the apartment block.

He looked around manically, but saw no one, except a silver car drive out the parking lot.

Lance swallowed. He wasn’t sure how long he’d spent, staring, hoping that he’d see someone - _see Keith._

But there was nothing.

Lance rooted through the envelope, but there was no letter. Just his name, and the money.

When he stepped back inside, he threw the envelope onto the kitchen table. Hunk frowned, but said nothing.

“I’ll take whatever shifts your mum lets me take,” Lance muttered.

Hunk forced a smile. “You should also call Nyma. She’s a sweetheart. She might be good for you, y’know.”

But Lance was still staring at the envelope.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments, kudos, etc are super appreciated. <3


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